Fallen
by 50ShadesofCray
Summary: Naomi wakes up in the middle of a crossroads, not knowing how she got there or why. Realizing the angels have fallen, she sets off to form a plan to reclaim Heaven and exact revenge on Metatron. That is, until Crowley throws a wrench in said plan.
1. Crossroads

**Title: Fallen**

**Rating: M – not for people under 18. **

**Disclaimer: If I could make money from this, I wouldn't be posting it here.**

**Summary: Naomi wakes up in the middle of a crossroads, not knowing how she got there or why. Realizing the angels have fallen, she sets off to form a plan to reclaim Heaven and exact revenge on Metatron. That is, until Crowley throws a wrench in said plan.**

**Author's Note: This story hovers somewhere between canon and fanon. While I make a solid effort to align the story with facts from canon, well, sometimes fanon takes over and makes me do naughty things—like putting Crowley and Naomi in a story together. **

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**Chapter 1: Crossroads**

As she opened her eyes, they were met by a blinding light. It was her first impulse to be afraid. She held her hand in front of them to try and shield this light that was impeding her vision. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, allowing them to widen from their squinting position to see that the source of this light was simply the sun, which shone brightly overhead. Calming herself, she managed to sit up and survey her surroundings. Little flashes of a memory played in her head, but in her confused state, she couldn't recognize or place them. Intuitively, she knew them to be of grave importance, but didn't quite understand why. In earnest, she tried to focus, but she felt too weak, too vulnerable. Glancing around her, she saw absolutely nothing except a road which stretched in four directions. There was not a soul-or monster-in sight, only a couple of birds flying overhead, their wings beating against a backdrop of expansive blue sky. It all seemed so peaceful, and that was so very wrong somehow.

Gathering what little strength she had and with much deliberation, she rose and found herself struggling to stand on shaky legs. Blurry images of an event that she was certain to have happened bounced around the insides of her head, pounding as they collided with her returning consciousness. She almost fell over. The face she was seeing gradually came into focus as the fog of her coma lifted. Fear jolted through her as one image presented itself clearly to her.

Metatron.

She gasped and suddenly remembered what had happened. She'd warned him to stay away from her; she'd told him she had work to do, which included preventing him from expelling the angels and cutting them off from Heaven. There was a bright light and pain, a lot of pain, as he drove her own drill into the side of her head. It happened so quickly. Then, there was darkness. Somehow, she'd ended up here, wherever here was. And she was alive. She tried to remember anything else, but couldn't. She wasn't sure if it was because she wasn't able to remember anything else, or if there was simply nothing else to remember.

She wondered how long she'd been unconscious. Metatron had by now taken over Heaven, she was sure of it, which meant that she was stuck on Earth and unable to go home. She wondered about the other angels. They would have been cast out of Heaven by Metatron, they were no doubt wandering the Earth lost and confused. They would be looking for leadership, and she needed to make sure they didn't align themselves with an angel who would do them further harm. She tried listening for other angels, and heard nothing but radio silence which she attributed to her weakened state. It seemed that she was even more alone than before. She needed to form a plan of action. Many thoughts entered her mind: where would she go in the meantime? What should she do first? The most crucial question, however, was how she managed to be alive right this very minute. It bewildered her, but most of all, it made her uneasy. She didn't like questions she couldn't answer.

Knowing she couldn't stay where she was and that she desperately needed to regain her strength, she remembered the abandoned house that served as her home on Earth when it suited her purposes. It was in a rural area, away from everything and everyone. No one could find her there. It would give her time to recuperate sufficiently enough so that she could begin working on a plan to reclaim Heaven for the angels. Most of all, she wanted to see Metatron disposed of in the most painful way possible. He would rightfully pay for what he had done to her and her brothers and sisters. She would make sure of it.

Right now, the world was in chaos. It was angel against demon, and angel against angel, and Metatron against all the angels... It was enough to make her head spin, and spin it did. In the blink of an eye, she arrived at her destination. Her strength was totally drained by the travel, and upon arrival at the abandoned house, she collapsed on the floor. Once more, she fell victim to unconsciousness.

* * *

She felt her cheek lying against something cool and smooth, but it was what she smelled that jolted her awake. Suddenly, she sat up and saw a ring of fire encircling her. The flames stood tall, burning hotly in shades of orange, red, and yellow. Her eyes darted around the room until they fell on him; she could feel her face contort with utter contempt. He grinned, which only served to further infuriate her.

"Hello, darling. Sleep well?"

"Crowley." It wasn't even a question. She bared her teeth as she helped herself up. He had her trapped and this realization made her even more infuriated, if that was possible. He stepped closer to the fire, and she saw him look her once over.

"The one and the same. I heard a nasty rumor about you, Naomi. Glad to see it's not true." The way he drawled "nasty" made her want to hit him. She was not one to engage in senseless acts of violence, but she could find five reasons to justify a punch to his face.

"I do not have time for this. Undo this trap this instant, Crowley."

"I don't think so, sweetheart. You and I have business to discuss." He pulled up a chair and another demon brought him a drink. He was savoring this, she could tell. The last time he'd tried to make a deal with her, she'd disappeared on him before he could even make a proposal. This time, she'd have to listen, but she already knew her answer would be no to whatever scheme he was going to lay out before her. She knew every single one of his lies, his tricks, the aces up his sleeve... They'd known each other almost since the beginning of time, and she was well-versed in his angles. So, well-versed, in fact, that she didn't listen to anything he had to say.

"You and I haven't any business to discuss. I will never, ever do business with the likes of you, you bottom-dwelling amoeba." She crossed her arms in front of her. She would've really liked to smite him, except now, she had no defenses, thanks to his trap.

"Oh, I think we do. You see, we're both trying to save our homes—you Heaven, me Hell. The angels have fallen—"

At this, something in her snapped and suddenly, she unleashed her wings, which spanned across the room. Her eyes glowed brightly, menacingly. The anger at Metatron and fury at Crowley met inside and she didn't want to hold back anymore. She brought herself up to her full height.

But Crowley wasn't intimidated. "Oh, calm down! For once would you listen to me without getting your knickers in a knot?"

Her wings remained out, but the glow in her eyes receded. Just. "When I get out of this trap—"

Crowley was getting impatient. "And who said I'll ever let you out? Look, love, we're fighting the same battle. I don't want to be sealed up in Hell no more than you want to have to stay on Earth for the rest of eternity. We can help each other out." He walked halfway around the circle of fire, looking thoughtful. Scheming, more like it, Naomi thought. "Here's the thing. If you don't agree to help me, which in effect would be helping you, too, then not only will I never let you out of the trap, but I will tell my boys to start capturing angels at will. And I'll torture them until they reveal the secrets you think you are protecting, just as I did Samandriel. I will torture them until they can't take it any more and they die. Maybe I'll even start with Castiel, who may be the only one who knows how to reverse the spell that cast you lot to Earth in the first place. All the while, you'll be watching and listening to their begging and pleading and screaming. Do you understand?" His dark eyes bore into hers, and she could see the flames from the fire dancing in them.

She reared her head back and spit on him. "You are vile. And you wonder why you should be sealed away in Hell?"

Taking a handkerchief from his jacket, he wiped his face. "Don't get hoity-toity with me; I've seen you play with your food, after all. You have some delicious methods that I hope you'll get a chance to show me during our tenure together. There was a time you would've considered it foreplay."

A tiny bit of crimson crept up her cheeks, though she successfully suppressed a shiver. What she did—was doing—was protecting her family. Everything she did was to protect them, not for the sake of torture itself. No one was killed for the pleasure of it. She stood up straight with an air of defiance about her. She jerked her chin up haughtily.

"And don't give me that piece that you were doing it to protect Heaven and the angels, blah, blah, blah. You are ruthless, deceitful, conniving...and if I'm being perfectly honest, it's quite a turn on. As you well know..."

"Oh, shut up."

"Keep it up, darling, and I might have to find us a bed in this place." The amusement on his face was revolting. She had to turn away. "Listen, after we're done saving our respective homes, you can resume your arrogance, ascend back to Heaven in style, and flap your wings at anyone who will listen. Until then, we can bat for the same team, so to speak. Just hear me out."

Not seeing any other option, she agreed to listen to him. But, as she emphasized over and over in her mind, not that there was any other option. "All right. What do you propose?"

"It's quite simple, really," he sipped his Craig. "We find a way to kill Metatron-"

"Metatron?" she asked surprised. "What has he done to you?"

"I have a bone to pick with him, that's all."

"You make it sound like he took your candy."

"Something like that. Would you like to let me finish, or do you actually enjoy staying in that trap?" She rolled her eyes. When she didn't say anything more, he continued. "Anyway, our mutual desire to see Metatron dead should be tickling your fancy. I'd even let you do the honors with the torturing."

"Unlike you, I don't torture for the pleasure of it."

"Keep telling yourself that, love. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. So, we get Metatron out of the way, and we keep Abaddon from taking over Hell." He saw her open her mouth to speak, but he interrupted. "And before you ask why a pure, innocent being like yourself would ever get involved in a fight over Hell, let me remind you that Abaddon has a special hatred of angels and plans to make you and your little winged friends bow to her. I don't mind angels, as long as they stay out of my way. Right now, she's in Hell drumming up support for her pathetic cause. If she manages to take over Hell, you and your comrades will be her bitches. Eternity is a long time, and just between you and me, I don't think being someone else's bitch is a position in which you'd flourish."

"Let me see if I'm understanding you correctly...you want me to be your bodyguard?" She walked around the circle with her hands clasped behind her back. Now it was her turn to be amused.

"It sounds so indelicate when you put it that way."

"You are indelicate, so it's fitting."

"Help me defeat Abaddon, and I will give you my word that as King of Hell, your angels will be off Hell's radar. That is, unless they do something to piss me off, which they usually do." He eyed her pointedly and took another drink of his Craig. "We get rid of Metatron, and the angels get to return to Heaven. Tell me, which part of this sounds unappealing?"

Naomi walked a bit around the circle, then looked at him to ask, "And why should I trust you?"

"What makes you think you have a choice?"

"I want a guarantee, and your word isn't good enough. A demon's word is as good as a nest of wasps." She knew she had no other options. Crowley was holding all the cards to her fate, but she had to extract some sort of guarantee from him that he wouldn't pull any tricks or double-cross her, as was a demon's nature. And Crowley was as dangerous and treacherous as any ten demons. He was, after all, the King of Hell. It was ludicrous that she even consider a promise from him as binding. As if he would actually follow through on it! The thought of it was laughable.

"I see the wheels turning in your head," he said as he got up from his chair and moved closer to the fire. He stood within reach of her. "If you're worried about any kind of dodgy promises from me, perhaps we can make a deal in the usual way. That way, we both hold up our sides of the bargain. When it comes down to it, I don't trust you any more than you trust me."

"I have never given you any reason to distrust me!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Really? Remember the time in Greece—"

"Oh, not that again!" she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I told you, I—"

But he held a hand up to stop her. "No matter. We will never see eye to eye on that—"

"Because you're stubborn and unyielding! I explained everything!"

"And a tidy explanation it was. Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't buy it then, and I'm still not buying it. I've been screwed over by angels in the past. And you're an angel; therefore I don't trust you." He grinned. "I know you have your little secrets, Naomi. I'm going to find out what they are before this is all over."

She was instantly taken aback, but retained her composure. She didn't want him to think he'd succeeded in striking a nerve. Observing him critically, that cocky attitude and smug face of his told her that he wasn't bluffing. What could he possibly know? How could he possibly know anything? He was Crowley; he was likely trying to play mind games with her, distorting the truth to his advantage for the sole purpose of getting her to agree with any type of deal he felt like offering. Her vessel's blood boiled with swelling rage. He was deceitful, underhanded, beguiling...

"Fine. Write up a contract," she acquiesced bitterly.

"You mean a paper contract that we have to sign? Don't want to seal a deal the traditional way?" He wriggled his eyebrows, making her want to slap him.

"You're despicable."

"It would save us time. I promise not to bite this time."

She gave him her most withering glare. "I have an indescribable urge to smite you right now."

"Do you? Save it for the bedroom, love. Nothing like a little smiting to fuel the passion between the sheets."

He looked too pleased with himself when he saw that he'd managed to make her blush. She hated him all over again. "Just make up a contract and I'll sign it. After reading it, of course."

"Of course. The thorough, meticulous bureaucrat wants her contract. You pore over paperwork like other people look at nudie magazines."

"I am not a bureaucrat!" Her eyes once again glowed and her wings flapped, sending a gust of wind throughout the room, though sadly not making as much as a dent in the fire that encircled her.

"Oh, put those things away!"

"Just make the contract. And make sure every I is dotted and every T crossed or I will make you rewrite the entire document. Do I make myself clear?"

"Er, one more thing, love."

Now she was the one becoming impatient. "What is it?"

"Well, as I mentioned, I don't trust angels. I need further insurance that you're going to keep your end of the deal."

"That is preposterous! That's what the contract is for!"

"Yes, but seeing as you don't have a soul for collateral, I'll need something else to bind you to the agreement." He walked the circumference of the fiery circle before finishing his thought, which annoyed Naomi. "I want your grace."

"Absolutely not." She shook her head and paced back and forth in her enclosed space in a frenzy. "That's a ridiculous request. Insane!"

"I'm playing with fire! Surely, you can understand that I don't want to get burned. I don't want to risk you disappearing or conspiring against me at any point."

"You're expecting me to be like you, and I'm far, far from being like you."

"Right. Here's a newsflash. Just because you preferred the sanitized fluffy white cloud in the sky over the pit and racks doesn't make you the righteous creature you think you are. You'll do anything to get what you want and woe be unto the person that gets in your way, sweetheart," he laughed.

"That's not true," she hissed, baring her teeth.

"Drop the pretense." He sounded somewhat admiring and amused at the same time. "Look, I appreciate the fine skills you've sharpened over the past millennia. Why do you think I chose you and not some other incompetent angel? Now, as for your grace—"

"I won't give it to you," she fumed.

"Remember what I said," he retorted. "I can have an angel brought here at the merest snap of my fingers. Oh how the screams would be music to my ears..."

She mulled it over crossly. She couldn't let him torture her own kind. It was her duty to protect them. She would have a chance to ensure their protection for all of time if she and Crowley succeeded in their mission. There was a possibility they could return to Heaven if they were successful. It was her duty as a leader, as a warrior. Crowley only saw her as a mindless bureaucrat. She would show him.

Of course, this was all contingent on Crowley keeping his end of the deal.

Just as he raised his fingers to snap them, Naomi spoke up. "All right. I will offer my grace as insurance. But how can I help you if I'm human?"

"In times of peril, it may be necessary to return your grace for a short period of time. If that does happen and you break the deal during that time, your angels die. I will come after you, and you'll wish you were dead. I can promise you that."

"All right. Contract first, then if everything is agreeable, I'll give you my grace." Though the situation was far from ideal, she had no choice but to trust Crowley. If she were being honest with herself, the whole thing felt like a death sentence. She was no stranger to death, having been dead less than a day before thanks to Metatron, but she'd like to avoid being dead again, if at all possible. She had responsibilities to attend to.

Crowley disappeared, probably to make up the contract. He returned so quickly, though, that she was suspicious.

"Simply sign at the bottom, love." He held up the contract and handed her a pen.

"I don't think so." She took it out of his hands and began unrolling it.

"Don't tell me you're actually going to read it?" he scoffed incredulously.

She gave him a look that said she was going to read every single word. Twice.

"Bureaucrat," he muttered under his breath. He sighed and found a chair as Naomi began reading. She took her time and resisted being rushed by Crowley's sighs and grumblings. About three-quarters of the way down, she came to a clause that made her look up in irritation.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"I am not sleeping with you 'in the case that we find ourselves in a situation in which there is no way out but death and the death is final with no chance of returning in either a corporeal or spiritual form, or if the Earth should be on a course toward imminent demise that is final and irreversible.'"

He shrugged. "You can't blame a man for trying."

She primly marked through those lines and kept reading.

Finally, after marking the contract with her changes, she paused briefly to contemplate the matter. She tried to convince herself that what she was doing was the right thing to do, that her actions and decisions were in the best interest of the angels. Any nagging doubts were pushed from her mind. There wasn't time to waste on them. If she was going to go through with this, she needed to be totally committed.

And there was no other choice than to be totally committed.

Sucking in a deep breath, she wrote her name on the line and handed the contract back to Crowley. There was no way of backing out now. He took the pen and wrote his name beneath hers, and once he was finished, a demon was summoned to fetch it.

"Now, sweetheart, there's the little matter concerning your grace..."

"Yes." She inwardly flinched. Her grace was her essence and without it, she was a mortal, susceptible to the same diseases and weaknesses that befell them. Without it, she was no longer an angel.

Taking a knife and vial from his jacket pocket, he proffered them to her, his arm extended over the fire. But she shook her head.

"To remove one's own grace is the greatest sin one can commit. I cannot—will not—agree to that. If you want it, you will need to take it from me."

"You angels and your trite rules." Snapping his fingers, the fire ring immediately vanished and he approached her. She tilted her head back, swallowing back her humiliation at this act of submission to a demon. Raising the knife to her throat, he paused. Naomi searched his face. Was it resistance that she saw? Repulsion?

Slowly, he drew the knife across her throat, making the wound deep enough so that it created a gaping hole. Her grace pooled at the opening, a phosphorescent substance that stood out in sharp contrast from the blood that trickled out. Stoically, Naomi didn't move nor make a sound. Crowley swiftly captured the substance with a vial, and it was all over.

The sudden absence of her grace left her feeling strange. In a swift moment, her legs buckled and she felt as weak as she did when she awoke at the crossroads earlier that day. Lightheaded, she collapsed, but Crowley reached out in time to catch her.

"How does it feel to be mortal?"

"Unimpressive," she mumbled.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. It's not forever. Besides, there are certain things that are much better when you're mortal."

She swore she could see a salacious gleam in his eyes, but she felt too poorly to care.

With the snap of his fingers, they were in a bedroom upstairs. Crowley helped her over to the bed where she lay down, unable to do much else. She was conscious, but very, very drained. Another snap of his fingers healed the laceration at her throat. The pain from the wound she felt upon the loss of her grace was gone, which was a small comfort.

He held up the vial, illuminated by the angel's grace. "I'll be keeping this close to my heart." He tucked it safely into the breast pocket of his jacket. "Or, I should say, where my heart would be if I had one."

She snorted and felt her eyes closing against her will. It was a sensation she'd never felt before. How strange this all was.

"Well, you need your sleep. That's that thing humans do at night time in these contraptions that are called beds."

"Miserable termite..." she muttered as she drifted off to sleep, oblivious to everything in the world and all the planes beyond. It was a comfortable darkness that embraced her.

It was at least an hour before the miserable termite left her side.

**End Notes: I'd love to know what you think. I'd also love to know if there are any other Crowley/Naomi shippers out there so that I can totally fangirl with you. **


	2. Everybody's Been Here Least Once Before

**Title: Fallen**

**Rating: M – not for people under 18. **

**Disclaimer: If I could make money from this, I wouldn't be posting it here.**

**Summary: Naomi wakes up in the middle of a crossroads, not knowing how she got there or why. Realizing the angels have fallen, she sets off to form a plan to reclaim Heaven and exact revenge on Metatron. That is, until Crowley throws a wrench in said plan.**

**Author's Note: This story hovers somewhere between canon and fanon. While I make a solid effort to align the story with facts from canon, well, sometimes fanon takes over and makes me do naughty things—like putting Crowley and Naomi in a story together. **

**Chapter title comes from the Kings of Leon song ****_Beautiful War_****.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Everybody's Been Here Least Once Before**

_So this is what being human feels like_, thought Naomi as she gradually awoke from the nothingness of sleep. Angels didn't sleep; there was no need. In that first minute of wakefulness in which she began gathering all her senses back to her, she thought about little things she was sure most humans took for granted at the dawning of each day: the softness of the bed, the inability to think completely clear, and having to stretch to rouse the body from its dormant state. Exploring her new humanity, she gave her leg an experimental stretch and even wiggled a big toe.

Then she heard someone clear his voice.

She opened her eyes and saw Crowley sitting in a chair across the room, looking at her with a most bored expression.

Suddenly self-conscious, she sat up against her pillows and sharply asked him, "How long have you been sitting there?"

"Ah, grumpy this morning, are we?" he retorted. He was agitated by something, she could tell. It was in his demeanor: the subtle shifting of his eyes, the stiffness of his body.

"What do you want, Crowley?" She pulled the blanket tightly around her midsection and noticed she wasn't wearing the clothes she fell asleep in. It was a nightgown...made of very silky, white material...with thin straps. The sight of her bare arms and exposed shoulders caused her cheeks to flush.

Crowley noticed her embarrassment. He rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed. "Naomi, you are such a prude."

"Did you do this?" she shot back accusingly.

"You couldn't very well sleep in that thing, could you?" He eyed the suit that was draped over another chair.

"Yes, I think it would've been entirely possible! How dare you! I—"

He held his hand up to stop her. "Listen, I would love to stand here and argue with you, but I have more important things to do. Namely, find out what Abaddon's plans are for the immediate future. I suggest you get over this modesty streak of yours and meet me downstairs. NOW."

With that, he disappeared. She hated when he did that.

After fumbling through a few supplies in the bathroom, she freshened up as best she could, dressed, and joined Crowley in the kitchen. There was another feeling gnawing at her. It seemed centered in the pit of her stomach. These human attributes were definitely going to take some getting used to.

She approached him. "Before we start talking about business, I need to eat. And I need to eat now. It seems very urgent."

"I can't believe this," he sighed.

"If you're going to keep my grace, then you'll have to concede that I'll be functioning as a human and have needs that must be met. So, keep your sighs and your eyerolling to yourself," she snapped impatiently, frowning at him.

With a snap of his fingers, a plate of food appeared on the kitchen table. She eyed it in suspicion a good moment before having a seat. "It better be good."

As she cautiously began eating, yet another foreign experience for her, Crowley filled a glass from the bottle of Craig he'd simultaneously snapped into existence.

"It's a bit early to be drinking, don't you think?" she asked.

"Who are you, my wife? I don't need your permission to drink!"

"The best laid plans aren't made while one is intoxicated."

"Tell me, when was the last time you were intoxicated?"

"I have never been intoxicated!" The mere thought scandalized her.

"Then shut up." He down one glass and poured himself another. "My boys captured a couple of demons last night. I don't recognize them; of course, there are so many in Hell it's impossible to get to know everybody."

"I'm sure."

"Word of mouth is they're a couple of recruiters. They report to someone who reports directly to Abaddon. I want to know how many people they've recruited and the name of their supervisor, so to speak."

"And you'd trust what they'd say?" she asked skeptically.

"You of all people should know that people will tell you almost anything in the throes of torture-truths, lies, and everything in between. Don't worry, I sharpened my knife collection in anticipation of this," he smirked.

"You're depraved. Did you ever think that maybe we could get the information we want without resorting to such brutality?"

Crowley looked at her as though she were crazy. "They're DEMONS. You don't negotiate with demons! You slice off body parts and stab them until they tell you what you want. Then you do it again. The first time for information, the second time for fun!"

"Why on earth would you do it for fun?"

"Because we're bloody demons! It's what we do!" A little vein in his forehead looked ready to jump out of his skin.

"Right. Well, I would like to try reasoning with them first before resorting to violence. Also, maybe you should go easy on the Craig, dear. You look a little ill."

"I should've killed you when I had the chance yesterday."

"Yes, but what would've been the challenge in that? That's not your style, Crowley. You don't like easy; you like the chase."

"And what do you know about the chase, love?"

Smiling saucily, she replied, "You like to conquer and dominate. Easy prey doesn't interest you." She finished her breakfast and led the way toward the basement where the demons were being held captive.

He stood up, too, and followed her only too closely. She could feel him against her back. It was like an electric current had just shot through her. "You're wrong. I'm the King of Hell, darling; all prey interests me."

* * *

The two demons, whose names were revealed to be Nadia and Jonas, were strapped to chairs in the shadowy, dingy basement. Crowley walked back and forth between them, his hands clasped behind his back. He had a finesse about him; he carried himself too casually for what he had in mind for them. Naomi stood quietly in the back of the room, nearly out of sight. Her eyes never left Crowley. He was talking to them in that smooth voice of his, providing them with an elaborate outline of what was going to happen as if he were describing the weather outside. He described all the devices he had with utmost pride, even holding a few of them up for Nadia and Jonas to see. She could tell he got off on their fear. Though their faces remained stoic, Naomi could smell their fear, and she was sure Crowley could, too. He drew his energy from it. Sure enough, he shed the irritation present in his voice earlier that morning and filled the room with a voice befitting the King of Hell.

He started out asking them questions which they naturally refused to answer. They might be grunts for the higher ups, but they weren't going to simply roll over. Crowley hated to get his hands dirty, but torture was his specialty. He gleefully pulled up a chair and reached for one of the sharp objects at his disposal. The demons braced themselves for the pain.

Just as Crowley raised a knife, Naomi stepped forward. "Perhaps there's a better way to get the information we need. Your methods are...primitive and bloody, at best. You demons sure like to leave messes, don't you?" She observed him disdainfully.

Crowley turned and shot her a most reproachful look. She ignored it, sighing inwardly at his unapologetic debauchery. She was glad that she'd never sunk as low as to consider slicing and dicing flesh a form of entertainment. Her methods were specific and exact, and used for the sole purpose of garnering important information. She was fair, that is, unless the other party refused to cooperate. And she gave them many chances to do so! Then, well, she had to take matters into her own hands and extract information using whatever means necessary, typically with one of her tools. She didn't inflict senseless pain or injury, but some information was so vital to obtain that sometimes she had no other choice than to take drastic measures. Castiel was a good example of this.

Jonas darted his eyes from Naomi to Crowley. "What does she mean, 'you demons?'"

Before allowing Crowley the chance to respond, she approached Jonas. "We would like some information from you. You see, I don't like these..._barbaric_ methods." She found herself next to a tray of Crowley's torture devices. With a subtle deliberation, she ran a single finger down the cool length of one of the metallic instruments that lay there.

"Hey, bitch, you didn't answer me. Who are you?" Jonas struggled against his bindings, angry at being bound and angry at Naomi for not answering his question.

With a calm countenance, she answered him, "My name is Naomi." She lifted a tool and held it up to her face, studying it intently. "Jonas, we can do this my way or Crowley's way. You can answer my questions without my having to resort to measures neither of us would find too comfortable, or you can resist and see what methods I have of getting what I want." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Crowley raise his eyebrows in interest.

"And why the hell would I cooperate with you? I've dealt with Crowley's bitches in the past, and I made it out without a mark on me. So, I'm sorry if I don't give a shit about what you're threatening to do to me." He grinned, showing his yellow teeth which were arranged in two imperfect rows in his mouth.

Naomi gave a small, indulgent smile. She felt Crowley's eyes on her. A little sideways glance revealed that he was watching her intently, an expression of intrigue on his face. She sat the instrument down and picked up another, a replica of her memory drill that she'd used on Castiel and Metatron. She hadn't expected to see it there among all the other playthings of Crowley's. Of course, she'd never used it on anything other than angels; not that she'd needed to. She wondered...

"Tell me who you're working for. I want the name of the person you report to."

Jonas snorted derisively, "Really? You think I'm going to give up that information just like that?"

Naomi moved closer to him until she was at his side. She held her drill eye-level to him. "This drill is something of my own creation. It's a memory drill of sorts. I use it on insubordinate angels to retrieve their memories. It's a useful tool when an angel is suspected of engaging in behavior that contradicts his or her duties as an agent of Heaven."

"You fuck with angels?" Jonas's black eyes widened in alarm. "Who the fuck are you, lady?" He gripped the armrests of his chair until his knuckles went white. He struggled against his shackles.

Naomi prepared to insert the drill into his forehead. "An angel," she said impassively as she searched for just the right spot to insert it. "I would tell you that this doesn't hurt a bit, but it is not in my nature to lie. In fact, it will probably hurt a whole lot."

She pierced the skin with the sharp tip of the instrument, causing him to yell out. "Ok, ok!"

"Yes?"

"But if I tell you, he's gonna kill me! I can never go back!" He was panting and shaking, trying in vain to break the chains that bound him to the chair.

"If you don't tell me, you're going to be in a lot of pain and possibly die anyway." She inserted the drill even further, pushing past the bone, making the demon release a piercing shriek.

"All right, all right!"

Nadia shouted out, "Jonas, don't be an idiot! You know what he'll do to us!"

The insertion of a memory drill was quite a delicate procedure. It required precision and competence in order to glean the information she needed; any kind of error could result in immediate death. The further in the drill went, the louder he screamed until he was begging her to stop.

"Fine! His name is Agiel! His name is Agiel!" The name reverberated throughout the basement.

"What responsibilities has he given you and Nadia?" she asked as she continued. The screams were ear-splitting; Nadia was demanding he keep his mouth shut and not say anything more.

"Please! Please stop! He'll kill me!" But Naomi paid him no heed. She acted like she didn't hear his wailing, his pleading, which she really didn't. She had a knack for tuning out extraneous noise. With the delicate task she was undertaking, one couldn't afford to be distracted.

Nadia refused to offer any information, but Jonas became quite forthwith very quickly as blood started streaming down his face. "He wants us to find the fallen angels and convert them!"

"Go on."

"They're powerful, even fallen. Abaddon plans on using them to take over Hell. She's going to make them bow to her one way or another, but she figures if they use her power for her, the easier it will be for her to claim Hell for her own," he hissed in pain then howled.

"You might as well kill us now, you angel bitch," Nadia seethed. "We can't go back; he'll kill us."

Naomi was shrewd, however. She could use these two for her own purposes. They were making contacts with angels, gathering them for Agiel. She could use them to gather the angels for herself. She needed to form a faction if she was going to fight Metatron. She would have her revenge on him; she would rectify the situation and reclaim Heaven for the angels. Plus, she had to prevent them from aligning with Hell out of desperation. It was her duty. This all seemed like a perfect way to achieve what she wanted.

Removing the drill from Jonas's head, she wiped it clean. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Please." Jonas's voice was ragged; sweat dripped down his face. "Whatever you do, it can't be as bad as what Agiel will do to us."

"No," she said as she turned to face them. "If you give Crowley your loyalty, in return he will give you protection. If you decide to stick with Abaddon, then you're on your own."

Crowley jumped up heatedly, "Wait a bloody minute! Who are you to be offering any kind of protection? Especially to these idiots!"

Naomi pulled him aside. "They have been making connections with angels!"

"I don't care about angels! I am more powerful than a bunch of annoying pricks with wings!"

She was becoming furious with him. Her eyes flashed. "Right now you don't get to be terribly selective about who is on your side and who is not. If we kill them, that's two less demons for Abaddon, but you've gained nothing. We can use them."

Crowley looked into the eyes as though he could read her thoughts. "You can't fool me, love. I know what you're thinking, what you're planning. And it has nothing to do with me. You're thinking of forming your own little faction of broken-winged pricks. To go after Metatron."

"I am not going to sit here doing nothing to help the angels while he sits in Heaven gloating over the fact that he expelled us all! Also, may I remind you that he tried to kill me?"

In the background, Jonas managed to wheeze, "See? I told you that bitch isn't right. A dead angel is supposed to stay dead!"

Crowley paced the floor, mulling over this preposterous and possibly very stupid idea. He didn't think much of the idea; she could tell it in his face. "Perhaps we could use them. Angels are arrogant bastards with a special talent for pissing me off, however," he paused, giving it more thought. "I don't like working with them."

"How ironic." She crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue.

"But they could be useful, I suppose. You could keep them in line, keep them from pulling their angel crap on me. Although, you give me more than enough trouble, as it is. I'm not sure if I want to deal with the repercussions of having a group of angels at my disposal."

"The angels aren't yours," she quickly replied. "They don't work for Hell, and they don't take orders from demons."

"Then why the hell are we having this discussion?" he blasted.

"They will take orders from me. They will remember their roles as warriors of Heaven whose job it is to guard humankind. We will not destroy Abaddon because you will it; we will destroy Abaddon because we will not bow to her."

Crowley looked weary all the sudden and rubbed his temples. "You give me such a headache."

"No, dear, that's the alcohol."

"Would you shut up?" he bellowed loudly, kicking a chair to the ground. He was certainly mad and almost certainly raving at this point. Naomi shook her head; he was making such an unnecessary spectacle. "You two!" He pointed at Nadia and Jonas. "You can have protection in exchange for your loyalty. But the first time you screw up, even for a minor infraction, I will make you wish Agiel had gotten to you first! Just try not to get us all killed; you think you can manage that?"

And then he disappeared. Naomi had no clue where he went, but she was glad he was gone. If he was going to act like a lunatic, he was better off gone until he calmed down.

"Hey, what are we supposed to do?" Nadia asked. "You can't just tell us not to screw something up and then not give us instructions. We're not idiots, you know. Fuck the King of Hell."

Naomi raised her eyebrows and rebuked the demon in her severest voice. "Enough. Say anything else of that nature and I'll send you back to the street and Agiel will receive instructions from me personally on where to find you. Do you understand me?"

The two demons glowered at her. They didn't like taking instructions from an angel.

"Now, do as you're told; we'll take care of Agiel. I want you to keep doing as you've been doing; gathering the angels. Tell them that Naomi sent you. They'll know who I am."

Reluctantly, they gave an indication they understood and disappeared just like Crowley. While the remaining demons congregated, she retreated upstairs. She had plans of her own to make.

Naomi passed the rest of the day formulating plans. Once, she'd tuned into what Dean Winchester had referred to as "angel radio." She heard the voices of her lost brothers and sisters; some were looking for vessels, and others were simply trying to find their way in this strange, confusing world. She listened for any news, but she was disappointed. The conversations she heard were so disheartening that she gladly tuned out again. Help was coming, as soon as she could gather a group of them. She wondered if there was a spell in the Angel Tablet that could help them. Naomi had never been a desperate person; it was in her make-up to be patient and to see things fully through. But being alone in the house with Crowley and his demon fiends had made her contemplate rash actions that she knew would undermine her plans. If only she had her grace.

She would just have to wait and be patient, as Crowley wasn't going to return her grace any time soon. Being patient was once easy for her, but now it seemed to have become more difficult.

The better part of the day was spent thinking of her revenge and of the angels' homecoming. Time seemed to pass so quickly that at one point Naomi looked out the window and was surprised to see that it was sunset. The sky glowed amber, gold, and pink as the sun disappeared beneath the line separating the earth from the heavens. A feeling of amazement spread about her as she gazed upon her Father's creation. How special were these humans that her Father made all of this for them? To be human and to be able to behold such a sight, knowing that God made all this for you must be such a wonderful feeling. As an angel, she never noticed things like this. It hadn't crossed her mind to watch sunsets or sunrises and to think about how incredible they were. She hadn't seen the wonder in them until now. How absolutely breathtaking.

Once the sun had disappeared and darkness had engulfed the room, she stood up, having spent several hours bending over the table with her work. Her bones popped and her muscles were aching from ill-use. Being human was at times a very painful experience.

"You know, people are inclined to take warm baths as a way of relieving their aches and pains."

She was getting so used to his sudden disappearances and reappearances that she wasn't startled anymore when he appeared unannounced.

"You're back. Is your temper tantrum over?" she smirked.

"It wasn't a temper tantrum, sweetheart. I had things I had to take care of."

"It sounded like a temper tantrum to me." She began gathering her notes together.

"You should know. I've witnessed a few of yours myself. What are those?" He pointed to a couple of the notes still laying on the table.

"My notes."

"Notes? What kind of notes?" He moved closer to look at one, but it was quickly snatched up by Naomi.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She picked up the last one and closed her file, tucking it safely under her arm.

"Naomi," he said warningly.

"They're incomplete and underdeveloped. Perhaps when they're more concrete I would be willing to share them with you."

"I'll just wait until you're asleep and look at them then," he sniggered. He was so pompous that she felt she was in danger of resorting to violence if he kept aggravating her.

"Don't test me, Crowley. You might have my grace, but I have my little tricks."

He was behind her as she climbed the stairs. "Oooo. In that case, sweetheart, I'll keep pressing my luck. It'll be just like the old days."

"You wish." She hurried to try and get away from him.

"It was almost like the old days today. Down in the basement, I mean. Of course, you are the stubborn, arrogant angel you always were and your methods are a bit too soft for my palate...but you were, admittedly...brilliant."

"Too bad I don't care what you think. I don't seek approval from demons."

"I'm not just any demon, Naomi. ... There was a time when people worshiped us. Not as demons or angels, but as gods."

"Blasphemy won't get you anywhere."

"Blasphemy? Blasphemy was forcing me to be subservient to the new one god; blasphemy was demoting me to a mere demon and throwing me into Hell! That was blasphemy!"

She smiled a little at that. "You never did get over that, did you?"

"No! Relegated to Hell, getting third-rate souls... And then you left me for him." He looked up toward the ceiling.

"I didn't leave you for him. The offer was too good. I got to be—"

"A bureaucrat! You got to be a bureaucrat!" he said as though he had a bad taste in his mouth.

"I am not a bureaucrat! I'm an agent of Heaven!"

He stood in the middle of her room watching her with his hands in his pockets. "A bureaucrat, darling."

Naomi wasn't sure why they were having this conversation or how it got started. It infuriated her. She loathed being called a bureaucrat. She did more than sit behind a desk. She helped souls on earth and guarded them in Heaven; she always tried to do what was right. He had no idea how hard her job was sometimes. Lately, it had been a nightmare, having to undo all the chaos and destruction he and his demons caused. She tightened her jaw and pursed her lips together. This conversation was over, and Crowley saw it in her face. His demeanor seemed to have softened, actually; it was more than a little disconcerting.

"Crowley, it's been a long day and I'm tired."

"If you want me to leave, then just say so."

"All right. Leave."

And he did. Just like that.

She kept mulling over their conversation in her head. There was something different about Crowley, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. He'd always been a cocky bastard with a penchant for sadism; he lied, cheated, manipulated, and tortured for pure enjoyment. But when he'd talked of their time together back when they were gods, she couldn't keep from noticing a certain nostalgia in his voice. And Crowley wasn't one to feel nostalgic; it wasn't very becoming of the King of Hell. Perhaps it was brought about by his current struggle against Abaddon for control of Hell. Being usurped undoubtedly did a lot to contribute to the agitation she sensed from him.

Tired and aching, she decided to try Crowley's suggestion of a bath. Even if he was the one who suggested it, it did sound like a good idea. Slipping out of her shoes, she trekked into the bathroom, making sure the door was locked behind her, and began drawing a bath. The steaming water was inviting. It had been a long time since she'd last had a bath, she mused. She remembered Mesopotamia and how the heat of the day warmed the water of the Euphrates. Seemed just like yesterday. She would descend the river bank and let the warm water surround her. Once a week she bathed in the waters there, watching over her maidens who sent her prayers and offerings in return for her protection. It was there, she remembered, that she saw him for the first time, God help her.

Soon, her bath was frothing and foaming from the soap she'd dumped into the water. She wasn't sure what kind it was; she just knew that it bubbled and that pleased her. She'd sometimes heard humans talking about bubble baths. It never occurred to her to try one; once again, angels hadn't any need for that sort of thing. Reaching to undo the button at her neck, she turned to grab a towel and ran right into Crowley. She must've jumped a foot into the air.

"Get out! I'm about to take a bath." She kept her hand over the button at her collar.

"I can help you with that button, if you want." He grinned slyly and handed her a towel.

She grabbed it out of his hand. "I am perfectly capable of doing it myself."

"What's the fun in doing it yourself?"

Smarmy demon. She ground her teeth angrily, but she could feel her cheeks getting warm.

"Crowley, get out. My bath is getting cold. You have my grace and you have me trapped in this house. The very least you could do, you vile, repulsive beast is let me have my bath!"

"I love it when you get mad, Naomi. The way your cheeks flush and your chest heaves… I almost wish you still had your grace so you could threaten to smite me. We used to have such fun times doing that."

Picking up the nearest object she could get her hands on, she threw it at his head. He'd vanished, however, before it could hit him. It smashed into several pieces before falling to the floor. He made her want to scream!

She waited a few minutes just to make sure that he didn't reappear, then quickly undressed and sank into the hot bathwater. She was going to enjoy this bath if it killed her! The water swiftly began to work its magic and her body started to relax. The aches and pains from earlier dulled, and her mind released the tension that had built up over the past couple of days. _This is so nice_, she mused. Closing her eyes, she drifted off.

"You know, the first time I ever saw you, you were bathing. In the Euphrates." She jerked awake at the sound of his voice. Crowley was sitting on the toilet seat surveying her. Thankfully, there were enough bubbles to keep her modesty intact.

"CROWLEY." In vain, she tried to spread a small washcloth over the bubbles to give herself an extra layer of protection. It merely caused him to laugh even more. He was delighting in this devilment (there was no other word for it!) entirely too much. Much to her chagrin.

"There's nothing there I haven't already seen, love. Remember the lovers who used to bathe one another in the rivers in Mesopotamia? You know...baths were meant to be shared." The way he looked at her with his eyes that were all the sudden hooded and darkened sent an involuntary shiver down her spine despite the hot temperature of the water. And it made her furious.

"Not this one," she snapped, trying to sink further into the water.

"But you have all that room." Oh, how she wished she could punch that mischievous grin off his face!

She deliberately stretched her legs out, almost filling the rest of the tub. "Then it's good I have long legs."

Leaning over the side of the tub, his mouth nearly touching her ear, he whispered in a deep, gravelly voice, "There was a time when I would spend all night kissing up and down those same legs."

She blushed as those wicked memories came flooding back to her. Before she could do or say anything, he was gone. Again. She was tired of these games; she knew he was just messing with her mind, intentionally trying to take her down a notch. The heathen. He had to strip her of her sanity somehow. He was the King of Hell, she reminded herself. He was going to do anything to get what he wanted. What he wanted, though, was becoming more ambiguous by the day.


	3. You're Going Down

**Title: Fallen**

**Rating: M – contains some violence, strong language, and adult situations.**

**Disclaimer: If I could make money from this, I wouldn't be posting it here.**

**Author's Notes: Chapter name come from the song **_**You're Going Down**_** by Sick Puppies.  
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**Chapter 3: You're Going Down**

Years passed differently for angels than they did for humans. For angels, a millennia passed as quickly as it took a shooting star to dart across the sky. Events that transpired hundreds of years before were still fresh in their minds as if they'd happened only yesterday. Memories never faded nor were they ever completely forgotten. Since relinquishing her grace to Crowley, Naomi had struggled to manage without her powers. She was essentially human, vulnerable to the same weaknesses of the mind and heart as the rest of humanity. She discovered sleeping and eating; she discovered dreams. Dreaming took some getting used to. Dreams were vivid and so real. Sometimes they were pleasant and nice; sometimes they evoked feelings inside her reminding her of things that had passed, things that as an angel, she wasn't supposed to be proud of.

When a dream troubled her, she usually tried to wake up, forcing it to an abrupt halt. Too often, though, she found herself stuck in some sort of twilight between being asleep and being awake; unable to escape, she was forced to confront the unpleasantness her mind had conjured. She dreamed of Metatron, of warring angels, and of something she'd gone to great lengths to protect. It was a closely guarded secret that she'd remained quiet about for years. With everything that was happening between the angels, as well as the demons, it was troubling that she should be dreaming specifically about this particular thing. It was a source of much worry for her, and stayed on her mind quite frequently nowadays.

During these frighteningly real dreams, she was nearly always vaguely aware of another person in the bedroom with her. The inability to fully arouse herself from this state of sleeping purgatory did much to make her uneasy, and the feeling that someone was in her bedroom watching her didn't do anything to ease this notion. By the time she actually awoke in the morning, no one was there. She wondered if she'd just imagined it, perhaps it was an external manifestation of her own troubled mind. There came a point when she dreaded sleep, and would try to find things to occupy her time to keep her from succumbing to her drowsy condition. Nadia and Jonas, as well as the "angel radio," were full of bad news. She'd heard about deaths of those she'd led and guarded and mentored. While she wasn't one to be overly emotional and distraught at such things, it caused her to think of that which she'd always protected. The state of things caused her much agitation. It was difficult to find an outlet to work through such feelings (it was a surprise to her that humans could feel so..._deeply_). She wasn't allowed to leave the house on the threat of death from the hellhounds that guarded it, which did much to limit her activities.

Without a lot of options, she tried focusing on her work and often tuned into the angel radio. For the first time in a while, she began hearing her name. There was some doubt among the angels as to whether she was dead or alive, especially since the news that she was still alive had been spread by two demons. Many of them paid no heed to these rumors, but the truly desperate who had once looked to Naomi for guidance readily believed Nadia and Jonas. This plan of hers seemed promising. It was imperative to work quickly; the angels, divided in two factions led by Bartholomew and Malachi, were brutally slaughtering one other. The needless violence disgruntled her. They were becoming as bad as demons. Bartholomew had quickly proved himself unworthy of succeeding her as the leader of their faction. She needed to correct that.

She worked as swiftly as she could, taking into account the current state of things. All communication between Naomi and the angels went through Nadia and Jonas, who were proving themselves more competent than she'd originally thought. She gave them orders, which they followed to the letter. She didn't know if it was because they were scared of her or not, but they did show her some grudging respect at the very least. They were still demons and she didn't trust them, but they had a decent working relationship. After all, she was the only one standing between them and the wrath of Agiel.

As much as she worked on her plan to retake Heaven and to stop the bloodshed, there was only so much that could be done in a day, which left her with lots of time to fill. Crowley kept her at arm's length and hid his own plans from her, something that caused her great suspicion. Sometimes she'd go a couple of days without seeing him. It was unsettling, but she was grateful. They still bickered when they saw each other. She'd never admit it, but to some extent, she liked it. Until he took it too far. When he got personal, she ceased being amused. When his mouth came a little too close to her ear, her neck... When he would pin her against a desk or a table and look into her eyes... Her heart would betray her by thumping loudly. She was sure Crowley could hear, and it never failed to send scarlet blushes onto her cheeks. He enjoyed teasing her, she was sure of it. Bastard.

To fill the unoccupied hours of the day, Naomi took up very human-like hobbies. Like cooking. It had become a specialty of hers, and she found she was quite good at it. The five senses of humans aren't fully appreciated by angels as they have no interest in exploring them. Their roles as agents of Heaven don't require full usage and appreciation of these senses; their grace gives them powers that compensate for these largely useless faculties. Exploration of them could perhaps tempt an angel to rebel against his or her duties as set forth by Heaven. Free will wasn't given to angels, and if an angel was busy finding stimuli to satisfy the cravings these senses would undoubtedly generate, it would interfere with their duties.

Naomi was human at the moment, however, and felt it was well within her right to explore these newfound sensations (for educational purposes), seeing how if she didn't find something to do in her spare time, she would go mad. When Crowley was around, sometimes he'd conjure some delectable fare for dinner, making her taste buds sing. She'd never experienced anything of the like before! It made her wonder if she could perhaps replicate the dish and the taste. So, she began combing over recipes. She even sent demons to the store to fetch the ingredients. Soon, she was cooking. Of course, Crowley became suspicious and thought she was discreetly trying to make demon bombs.

One day, she was in the kitchen making dinner, solemnly combining her ingredients together when Crowley appeared. He seemed to be in a foul mood, which was typical these days. His mood hadn't improved any since that first week they were together in the house. It had only gotten worse with Abaddon on the rampage, stealing his souls before their expiration date. There was a lot of taunting on either side, and Crowley didn't take kindly to the fury with which Abaddon was trying to claim his domain.

"Chris tells me he had to go to the store for you yet again! Second time this week, if I'm not mistaken." He lifted up some of the little containers that littered the countertop and read the labels. "So what are you making with ground mustard, cayenne pepper, and...garlic? You better tell me you're making some kind of concoction to keep away vampires, because so help me..."

"Oh, calm down. I've been cooking. I have to do something while you're keeping me imprisoned here." She mixed her ingredients in a bowl together, working very earnestly.

"Cooking?" he asked skeptically. "Cooking what? A spell?"

"Meatloaf." She added the ground meat and began kneading.

"I'm sorry, I thought you said _meatloaf_."

"No, you heard correctly."

"Naomi...you are an angel. You—you torture things, you control other angels, you're even giving orders to demons now... You don't make _meatloa_f!" Coming up behind her, he peered over her shoulder. "That looks disgusting."

"You don't get to say anything. You spend your day eviscerating people. And this doesn't look a thing like entrails." She shrugged away from him and went to put the concoction in a pan.

"Too bad, sweetheart. I'm crazy for haggis, you know. Reminds me of the fatherland."

"I'm sure you get a reminder every time you play with one of your demons. Speaking of which, I want you to keep your demons in the basement. I don't want them coming up here." She checked the temperature of the oven and set the timer.

"Whatever for? It gets crowded down there!"

"Then you'll have to take your torturing sessions elsewhere. When those demons come up here, they track dirt and mud on the carpet. They move stuff around; they break stuff. This is why we can't have nice things," she frowned as she placed the pan of meatloaf in the oven.

Crowley paused for a moment and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Naomi, have you gone insane or am I imagining things? Are we really talking about tracking mud onto carpets and meatloaf? Really?"

Naomi yelled, "What else am I suppose to talk about? You keep me locked up in this house; you won't let me out. I don't see anyone else except Nadia and Jonas occasionally. I feel like I'm going crazy."

"_Going_ crazy? Darling, you've already lost it," he laughed, then arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps...some arrangement can be made for you."

Leaning against the counter, Naomi crossed her arms in front of her apron, oven mitts on her hands. "No, thank you. Favors from you come with a price."

"Well, I did start out as a crossroads demon," he slipped the mitts off her hands and tossed them onto the counter, then poured himself a drink.

"You cannot keep me locked up like this," she said bitterly. "You said we were going to work together to bring down Abaddon and Metatron. So far, I haven't seen any results. You don't let me in on meetings, you don't let me know what's going on, and I'm sick of it!" She heatedly threw a dishtowel to the floor.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Taking it out on the dishtowel? That's unlike you, Naomi, to pick on something that can't fight back. I'm disappointed in you."

Something in her snapped and she grabbed him by the neck. She wanted nothing better than to squeeze the life out of him, to see him gasp for air. All the anger, annoyance, and frustration bottled up the past few weeks was coming to a head. She wasn't used to feeling so helpless. Though she was without her grace, her grip was still strong. However, Crowley's was stronger. He grabbed her arm, making her cry out in pain and causing her to release the hand at his throat. He twisted it painfully behind her back. Using his free hand, he picked up the dishtowel and flung it on the kitchen table.

"Naomi, I don't appreciate being choked. If you ever try that again, one of my lowly demons will be mopping the floor with what's left of you." With that, he let her go and straightened his collar.

She shook her arm where pain was pulsating in the spot where he'd grabbed her. She hissed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the discomfort off her face. Sighing, Crowley reached over and touched the spot. Instantly, it felt better.

"I want my grace back. Now!" she bristled.

"You know better than to make demands on me, love," he said mockingly. "I'm not going to give it back to you. Besides, after what you just pulled, why should I give you anything?"

"What do you want with me? Why am I here?"

He didn't immediately answer. He took another glass from the cabinet, filled it with Craig, and handed it to her. "Drink this."

She looked at it in his outstretched hand. "No."

"Would you stop being stubborn and take the damn drink? You're making meatloaf and beating on dishtowels, for pity's sake. This alarming state of domesticity begs for alcohol."

Though dubious, she took the drink anyway. She was tense. Things had been prodding along slowly lately, and the cabin fever wasn't helping. She downed the contents of her glass in one gulp. It burned going down her throat, but it felt good.

"Good girl," he said in a most patronizing tone of voice. "I've been thinking...maybe you should get out. A little time away from the house may do you some good."

"I don't believe you. You lie." She helped herself to another drink. It felt like she'd been thirsty for years.

"Well, Naomi, when you figure that I'm a demon and that's what demons do, then it's really not so surprising, is it?" he smirked. "Admittedly, I have business to tend to tonight."

"Then go. You know, dear, your absence does make the heart grow fonder...for your continued absence, that is."

"Ouch. And here I was going to suggest you accompany me on business tonight."

"Why would I do that? I want to get out of this house, but not to watch you conduct the perversity you call business." She turned around to wash her dishes in the sink.

He had a habit of invading her personal space, a habit she hated, and he was doing it again. She could feel him step close behind her. She felt him against her back. She saw his hands appear on the edge of the countertop on either side of her. Damn him. If it weren't for the angels, she would've hoped Abaddon annihilated him. She probably would've even helped. But here she was, a prisoner in her own home, so to speak, subjected to his lies and debauchery.

His breath was hot on the back of her neck when he spoke. His voice was deep and smooth. "We would find time for other things, naturally. I'm not all business, Naomi. You, of all people, should know that all work and no play makes me a very dull boy. And I loathe dullness. I like a little work with my play. That's why I'm King of Hell."

She swore she could feel his moist lips on her skin. He was firmly against her back now; there was no room to move. It was alarming.

"Get away from me." But it was more like a statement than a command. Where was her voice? It was failing her.

"Oh, Naomi," he chuckled. "Don't think I don't know what I do to you, even after all these years. I see your body react when I'm near. I know you hate me with a passion, but I also know you enjoy it. You're coming with me tonight."

"And what if I don't?"

That caused him to laugh loudly. "Then I'll make you. Also, you can't wear this where we're going." She knew he meant her suit.

"There's nothing wrong with this suit," she said obstinately.

"I've picked out something for you, something more appropriate for the venue where we're going. It's in your bedroom. And darling, do try to take the stick out of your ass tonight. I know you're an angel, but technically you're human now, so try to enjoy it. I'll be back for you in an hour."

Then she didn't feel him anymore. Nervously, she turned around. He was gone. Her cheeks were burning. She was actually shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was because she was mad or because she felt her modesty threatened. What did he have planned for her? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. With unsteady hands, she poured herself another drink. Unfortunately, alcohol didn't seem to have much effect on her.

Venturing upstairs, she entered her bedroom and saw a red dress lying on her bed beside a pair of shoes and a few pieces of jewelry. That impertinent demon. Red, of all colors! What would the angels think if they saw her out in red? Shameful. Only a King of Hell... As scandalous as it was, she reminded herself that she was getting out of the house. Maybe no one would see her; then they'd be none the wiser.

She slipped off her jacket, blouse, and pants, hanging them neatly in her closet. With baited breath, she unzipped the dress and stepped into it, sliding it up until the thin straps hooked over her shoulders. It fit her like a glove. She was embarrassed to admit it, but she looked nice. Very nice. Vanity was a sin, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the mirror. The way the fabric hugged her skin felt good. She took a secretive liking to the dress, though she wished she could hide her arms and shoulders. It didn't seem right to be showing so much skin as an agent of Heaven.

Once she put on most of her jewelry and shoes, she gazed at her form in the mirror once again. She had to confess that she liked what she saw. Not that her standard suit was so terrible, but the dress made her feel, dare she say it, somewhat attractive. And it worried her. How far was she allowed to become human?

As she struggled with her necklace, Crowley appeared behind her. "Let me help with that, love." Taking the necklace from her, he fastened it. She felt his fingertips ghost across the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Without warning, he took her hair out of its chignon, letting it fall down her back in waves. "There. Not bad." He admired the reflection in the mirror before them. "Angels shouldn't inspire such lascivious thoughts in demons, Naomi. I should be thinking of fifty ways to break your neck."

"Don't think for a moment that I'm not having similar thoughts about you, Crowley," she scowled. His reflection grinned.

"I like your hair down. Remember when I used to wrap it around my hand—"

"If you're going to turn this outing into something tawdry, I will stay here."

Suddenly, they found themselves in the middle of a crowded street amid bright lights and lots of noise.

"Welcome to Sin City, where all your vices are indulged with pleasure." Crowley came up beside her and took her arm. She tried to jerk it away from him, but he held on tightly.

"What are we doing in Las Vegas?"

"Poker tournament."

He led them through the doors of the casino. Apparently, he'd been here quite often as the guards knew who he was and let him through without a hassle. Navigating them deftly through the crowds and slot machines, he found an open table and had a seat. He asked for a drink and a chair for his guest.

He turned to her and whispered, "Abaddon is all fury and no finesse. She's going to implode. Every demon in Hell will turn against her. But before that happens, I hope to kill the bitch." The dealer shuffled the cards and distributed them to the players. Crowley looked through his hand and poured Naomi a drink.

The game went on for over an hour. Surprisingly, Naomi was very interested. It was a game of strategy, so naturally it appealed to her. She keenly observed the other players and followed Crowley's movements. She poured him drinks and he shared with her secrets of the game.

One by one, the players folded until there was only one left. Naomi thought Crowley's opponent, Mark was his name, looked a little too self-confident, and in honesty, a little too drunk. He probably should have folded a while back. The stakes were high and she was sure he didn't have enough for the bets he placed. It troubled her. The instinct to protect souls on Earth surfaced.

"Crowley, let him go. He has a problem. He can't help himself."

But he only grinned, "Why would I want to do that?"

"This is your business? You disgusting—" She started to get up, but Crowley waved his hand and Naomi was pushed down into her seat.

"CROWLEY." She struggled to get up, but she was stuck.

She saw him cheat. How could he not, he was a demon! Mark looked on horrified as Crowley revealed his winning hand, a royal flush. Mark stared at his losing one, fear etched into his face. Naomi knew at that moment what was going to happen.

"Well, Mark, you played a good game, a very good game, indeed. I believe you owe me, oh, let's say an even $5,000. I'll shave off a couple of hundred dollars out of consideration."

Mark swallowed. He could barely look at Crowley. "I—I don't have it."

"Don't have it? What do you mean, dear boy, you don't have it?" Crowley sat casually back in his seat, dreadfully amused and not at all surprised.

"You heard me. I have this watch; I paid a lot for it. Look, you can have my car. It's almost new."

"Crowley, don't," pleaded Naomi. He ignored her.

"I don't have any need for your watch or your car. I could have you jailed for this, you know. I could ruin your life-have you lose your job, your wife leave you, your children look at you with disappointment in their eyes..."

Mark was whimpering; he was scared. His body was visibly tense.

"I promise not to do this again. If you would just let me go...I swear."

Crowley laughed manically; it made Naomi's skin crawl. "Letting you go would be bad for business. Ah, there is something I could use, though. You're not completely useless."

"What is it? Anything!" Mark was desperate.

"No!" Naomi cried out. "Mark, no."

Leaning toward Naomi, he hissed, "If you don't shut up, I'll strangle you myself."

"Is this what you do? Prey on the weak? You're disgusting!"

"And how do you propose I get souls? Huh? This moron knew what he was getting himself into. I didn't _make_ him bet money he didn't have or play a game he couldn't win."

"I saw you cheat!"

"He would have lost anyway! Now, Mark, where were we? Yes, payment.

Naomi couldn't watch this happen. It was contrary to everything she believed in; it was antithetical to her role as an agent of Heaven. "Crowley, I'll play you for his soul."

The demon raised his eyebrows.

"My soul?" asked a wide-eyed, incredulous Mark. "What do you mean, _my soul_?"

"_You're_ going to play for his soul? What an interesting turn of events," he rubbed his beard.

She was determined. "Yes. If I win, he gets to keep his soul."

"And if I win?"

"You already have my grace. What else do you need?" she asked irritably.

Crowley was calculating, just as calculating as she. His eyes bore into her; they pierced her almost painfully, but she wasn't able to look away. He had her.

"If I win, I get his soul...and you're mine to do with as I please for the night."

Her nostrils flared. The surliness in his attitude was almost too much to handle. The thought of him touching her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. But the thought of Mark losing his soul to the likes of Crowley made her feel worse, like she had failed what she was made to protect. She was a warrior, with or without her grace. Above all else, she had to keep Crowley from getting this poor man's soul.

"What would it take for you to let him go completely?"

"Upping the stakes, are we?" He walked around the table once, dragging a finger along the edge. "What if I don't want to let him go?"

"You have a price. Name it." She crossed her arms; she meant business. It was no time for Crowley to be yanking her chain.

He stood before her, barely a couple of inches separating them, and spoke in a low tone, "If I win, then you're mine forever."

"I don't have a soul," she mocked.

"I'm not asking for a soul, sweetheart. Just you." His eyes raked her over from top to bottom and back up again. It didn't bother her too much until she realized she wasn't wearing her usual suit. She felt practically naked when she remembered what she was wearing.

Through clenched teeth, she spat, "I would help Abaddon kill you first."

"The boy is mine!" he barked, banging his fist on the table, causing the chips to clatter.

"All right. Done," she quickly said before she could think about it any further. She hesitated then grabbed Crowley's bottle of Craig and took a big drink before sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

"You!" he pointed at Mark, "You can go. You can thank the beautiful, but stupid lady that you get to leave with your soul intact."

Mark wasted no time in bolting; he never looked back. The dealer once again shuffled the cards and dealt them to Crowley and Naomi. Crowley glanced at Naomi and laughed.

"You don't even know how to play. I know for a fact this is your first time playing."

"And I know for a fact that you cheat," she drank from the bottle noisily. She'd emptied over half of it in the past two minutes.

"Then why bother to play me?" he asked as he surveyed his hand with utmost deliberation.

"Just shut up and play."

If truth be known, Naomi didn't know why she'd upped the stakes. They were no longer playing for Mark's soul; they were playing for her. Perhaps she figured that Crowley would never let her go anyway; or maybe she simply thought of it as the right thing to do as long as she was saving a soul from Hell. She certainly never had a martyr complex. She wondered if it was the result of being locked away so long, looking for any reason to do what she was created to do.

Crowley taunted her all through the game. She blocked him out, imagining him strapped to one of her chairs as she jammed a drill mercilessly through his skull. Oh, how wonderful that image was! She could hear his screams in her head and it was like a beautiful song. It wasn't in her nature to enjoy perverse activities like torture, but Crowley shouldn't really be afforded the same consideration she gave to humans. Even amongst demons, he was pretty horrible. When mental images of drilling into his head weren't enough to block out his attempts to get a rise out of her, she envisioned all the things Abaddon could do to him. It almost made her feel guilty to think of such things, but she stopped short of feeling such a way upon recalling that she was playing him for her modesty. The wretch.

Naomi was methodical in her approach to this game, more so than Crowley who treated it as some sort of sport. It was the cockiness that allowed him to treat everything with annoying flippancy. The sounds of the overhead music and the people coming and going were drowned by her concentration.

Suddenly, she took her eyes off her hand to ask for another bottle of Craig, sitting the now empty bottle aside. Crowley had bad taste in nearly everything except alcohol. The stuff was intoxicating, for lack of a better word.

He clacked his tongue and smirked as he took another card. "I thought you said you never drank?"

"No. I said I'd never been intoxicated."

"Developed a taste for Craig, I see." He reached for the new bottle to refill his glass, but Naomi grabbed it first.

"Get your own. This one's mine."

"Let me remind you that you stole my last bottle!" he huffed. "You're terribly ill-mannered, but I wouldn't expect anything less from an angel. Especially an angel with a stick up her ass."

Her eyes were glued to the cards in her hand. "Are you going to play or are you going to cry about it?"

Disgruntled, he waved a server over for a refill. "You don't have any powers, you know. If I were you, I wouldn't push your luck."

"You're not me, because if you were, you'd be better at poker."

"Naomi, you don't know poker from the angel tablet. And you don't know that, either," he laughed and took a sip from his glass.

But in her hand, she held a royal flush. It was a pity Crowley always underestimated her intelligence; not a pity for her, though. Her smile reached her eyes first, piquing Crowley's interest. Slowly, she spread her cards on the table for him to see. One by one, he saw her cards. One glance at his own cards and he threw his glass on the table indignantly.

"You cheated!" he jumped up.

"I did not!" She was actually offended! She was a leader a large faction of angels and an angel in one of the most important garrisons of Heaven! _She did not cheat._

"You did cheat! How else could you have beaten me? You're not supposed to cheat, you feathered bitch! You're a freaking angel!" It was amusing to see him as mad as he was.

Calmly and primly, she said, "I didn't cheat."

"Like hell you didn't! No one beats me! No one!"

"I'm sorry, dear, but _I _ beat you. And if we're being technical, I'm not technically an angel at the moment, either," she said as she turned the bottle upside down, enjoying a celebratory drink.

He got in her face and pointed a finger at her. "You will be lucky if you're alive tomorrow!" After toppling a couple of chairs and overturning a table, he stalked off, surprising Naomi. He hadn't trusted her to leave her house, but here she was, alone in a busy casino.

Figuring she should at least attempt to find Crowley, because surely he wouldn't leave her there, she walked through the casino a couple of times. Not seeing any sign of him, she went outside. At least if he were watching her, the moment it looked like she was trying to escape, he would surface.

Nothing.

Walking a little ways down the sidewalk, her heels clicking on the pavement, she looked around for any sign of that vile demon. Out of nowhere, from the darkness of an alley, she heard a loud commotion. Turning into the alley, she heard a screaming match between Crowley and...she couldn't make out the other voice. They were in a heated argument. It wasn't until she got closer that she could hear what was going on.

Abaddon.

She'd found the King of Hell and she was intent on taking him out once and for all. It seemed she'd been trying to find him, but he'd been laying low at Naomi's, guarded by sigils and hex bags, no doubt.

"All the demons will bow to me, Knight of Hell to Queen of Hell. Long live the queen."

"You are no queen, you foul whore. You think demons will let you push them around just because you've declared yourself queen? Ha!"

Abaddon screamed a bloodcurdling scream and threw a punch, which Crowley blocked. He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back with a snap, but she grinned and with a wave of her hand, sent Crowley flying into a wall.

"You can't even fight like a King of Hell. Why do you think that is, Crowley? Oh, maybe it's because you're nothing more than a mere crossroads demon." She sauntered over to him as he was picking himself off the ground.

"You'll burn! There won't be a demon out there who won't be plotting your demise!" he spat, blood trickling down his face.

"The demons want a leader. We're going to take what is rightfully ours. No more making deals." Abaddon cackled suddenly, "You're pathetic. You're no more fit to be a King of Hell than a hellhound. The hellhound might be more qualified, actually. No more negotiating, no more compromising. Best of all, no more contracts! As Queen of Hell, all will bow to me. Demons, angels... Or they'll die."

"That's where you're wrong, Abaddon." Naomi stepped into the thin strip of moonlight that blanketed the alley, bathing her in a ghostly light.

"Ahhh, Naomi, isn't it? I remember you," she grinned maniacally. "An angel! Well, a former one anyway, from what I hear. Get ready to bow. Once I finish with Crowley here, I'll be coming for you. I tell you what; I'll let you off this time. Go on so I can finish the former King of Hell; we'll rendezvous at a later date." She gazed at Crowley almost salivating, a glint of evil flickering in her eyes.

Crowley launched at Abaddon, sending her to the ground with a thud. He delivered a kick to her face, but she only laughed it off and sent him flying into another wall. A sickening crack of bones echoed in the alley.

"No one will listen to you, Abaddon!" he panted. "They will resent you!"

Naomi started to go toward Crowley, but Abaddon held up her hand. Taking her time and savoring every moment of it, she walked toward Crowley, obviously intending to kill him.

Still sprawled on the ground, Crowley reached inside his jacket pocket and removed the vial which contained the angel's grace. She could see the bright blue matter encapsulated in it. He struggled, but threw it to the ground in front of her. The glass burst into several little pieces, releasing her grace, which snaked up and forcibly entered Naomi through her mouth. She felt her grace restored as a sensation that felt like cold liquid shot through every inch of her vessel, invading every cell; she felt her face on fire with the glow of her power. Her wings emerged in a stunning spectacle and expanded, showing off their enormous length.

Abaddon backed away, but Naomi ran after her and threw her up against a building, pinning her against the cold brick by her throat. Her eyes burned blue and she could see their reflection in Abaddon's own eyes.

"I will kill you myself before any angel bows to you, Abaddon."

The demon struggled, kicking and trying to pry Naomi's hand from her throat. She was choking. Even so, she was grinning, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth.

Just then, three demons appeared in the alley. The tried to run at the angel, but found themselves stuck in place. Naomi used her free hand to keep them at bay.

"If you kill me," she gasped, "then my demons will go after that thing you care about so much, if you know what I mean."

Naomi was taken aback.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?" Her labored breathing continued, as the noises in her throat became more urgent. Naomi squeezed tighter; her eyes glowed brighter.

Abaddon continued in a strained voice, "If you kill me, those demons will destroy what you love most. Yes, Naomi, we know your secret and we will use it against you."

The demon knew. She somehow knew, and Naomi panicked. Abruptly, she released her hold on Abaddon and the demon fell to the ground. With a sinister smile, Abaddon slowly stood and backed away from Naomi.

"Don't do anything stupid, Naomi."

"If you do anything, Abaddon, I will find you and kill you. You can count on it."

"That won't happen. Like I said, you will bow to me, Naomi, or you will die. By the way, what we were just talking about...your little secret? I've just decided that I'd like to see you destroyed in the most painful way possible. Boys, we've got some hunting to do." She rejoined the demons and they promptly disappeared, sending Naomi into a frenzy.

She should've known Abaddon would lie! There was no time to waste as Naomi felt the tears sting her eyes. She tuned into angel radio as she went over to Crowley, who had gone unconscious. Seeing how demons didn't usually pass out, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Everything had gone wrong in such a short amount of time.

She took them back to her house hoisted him onto the couch. Kneeling beside his still body, she proceeded to heal wounds that he should have been able to heal himself. Crowley shouldn't be fazed by a bullet, let alone being thrown around by Abaddon. She ripped open his shirt and moved her hands over the bruises. She could feel his injuries heal instantaneously; quickly, she moved from one to another, watching the discoloration and blood disappear as though they had never been there. Crowley had some serious injuries, but once most of them were mended he awoke with a start, his eyes rapidly skimming his environment for any threats.

Naomi sank onto her knees. Angel radio didn't provide any useful information. It was mostly quiet. Hanging her head, she felt tears burn her cheeks as they made their way down her face.

"Naomi?" Crowley asked with uncertainty. "What happened?"

Lifting her head and fighting back her tears, she replied, "Your injuries were too much. You passed out. I-I think you were dying." That noticeably troubled him. It would've troubled her more had she not had other things on her mind.

"Did you kill that bloody abomination?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Bollocks! Well, on the bright side, at least you saved her for me. What an endearing gift," he sneered. "Why the hell didn't you kill her? You have your grace back!"

Unable to stop the tears anymore, she hung her head once more and let them flow freely down her face. A silent stream made its way from each eye. An awkward silence permeated the room. She couldn't help it. Nothing in Heaven nor Hell seemed like it could threaten this powerful angel and successfully deliver on said threat, but Abaddon dangled something precious in front of her, something she would die to protect. Something more precious to her than the angel tablet.

She was typically so composed, so sure of herself. Every decision was made with precision and care. She was mostly utilitarian in nature, always thinking of the greater good, not afraid to make the tough choices. She rose to battle with a steely grace most angels could only hope to emulate. But she had one weakness. Crowley saw that and instantly honed in on it.

"Naomi," he grabbed her chin a little roughly and forced her to look at him. He'd never seen her in such a state; no one had. As close as she'd come was when she had tried to warn Castiel and Dean of Metatron's plans.

"Crowley... I need your help." Her face contorted and she wept openly.

"You're asking a demon for help, sweetheart? Must be serious."

"I don't have time for your sarcasm."

"Yeah, and you lost me a soul tonight! So, why would I help you at all?" he shouted.

She looked at him and simply said, "I saved you."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, he asked, "What is it? Tell me what it is and I'll tell you yes or no."

"I—I need help finding...somebody." She raised her chin, but didn't meet his eyes. She couldn't. They were searching for something.

"And who might this somebody be?"

With trembling lips and a rediscovered guilt unfurling within her, she spoke in a broken voice.

"My daughter."

* * *

**End notes: I love it when they bicker like a couple that's been married for 20 years. *sigh***


	4. Graceless

**Title: Fallen**

**Rating: M **

**Disclaimer: Not mine...blah blah blah.**

**Author's Notes: Chapter title is brought to you by _Graceless_, a song by The National.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Graceless**

"Your daughter?" It was one of the few times Naomi had seen him speechless. Not many things took the King of Hell by surprise; actually, nothing took him by surprise, but she had apparently just made an exception.

"Crowley, there's no time to waste," Naomi pressed urgently. "Abaddon is looking for her. If she finds her..." She didn't want to think about what Abaddon would do to her daughter if she found her.

He got up from the couch with relative ease, even though he'd only been healed by the angel only a short while ago. Pacing the room thoughtfully, he mused aloud, "Why would Abaddon give a shit about your daughter? Why would she go out of her way to hunt down your daughter when there are, pardon me, more important things for her to do?"

Naomi shook her head and swallowed, "I don't know! I threatened her; she was mad. She said she'd destroy me. Perhaps it's retaliation. Look, I don't care why Abaddon would go after my daughter; I just want her safe. I want to find her before Abaddon does."

"All right. I'll make arrangements to have one of my boys go for her."

"Absolutely not. I'm not entrusting the safety of my daughter to your inept demons. I'm going for her myself." Naomi determinedly walked past Crowley toward the door, but he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. She struggled with him, trying to get him to let go.

"You're not going to do that. Don't forget you have a contract with me, love; I'm not going to let you walk into a death trap. Besides, Abaddon will have someone tracking you. Do you really want to lead her straight to your daughter?"

"Let me go!" she shouted, anger prickling her face like needles. She beat a fist against his chest. "You cannot possibly expect me to sit here when my daughter is being hunted by that heinous creature!"

"Why yes, I do expect you to stay here. You're going to stay here and let me take care of it." His grip on her tightened and he caught her flailing fist with his other hand, holding it firmly so she wasn't able use it against him.

"I can't believe it! No, actually, I _can_ believe it. Demons are all the same. You're all despicable monsters, abominations that should be locked up in Hell forever! You are no different, no better than Abaddon, and I loathe you! Oh, I understand it all now. You only want me around to keep you safe in case she shows up again, like she did tonight. The next time she does, I won't save you. I'll stand over you and watch you die. Happily!" Her chest was heaving with disgust; fury rolled off her in waves.

Crowley stood in place quietly, his face unmoving and impassive. Finally, he spoke, and when he did, there was no sarcasm or biting edge to it, only a dark, ominous smoothness. "There are sigils in place to keep you in this house, so any escape plans would be pointless. If anyone is going to kill you, darling, they will have to stand in line behind me. I didn't bring you back from death to feed you to that whore."

She was shocked and the incredulity spread across her face as that fact sunk in. Stupefied, she stumbled backward. "You? You did that? But why?"

"You've already answered your own question," his eyes flashed and his tone became more cutting, "I found myself in less than stellar condition. Naturally, I needed someone like you with your powers around in case things got...unpredictable. I just use you like always; you said it yourself in Mesopotamia and Greece and everywhere else we've had the gross misfortune of crossing paths. I'm a demon, sweetheart. I take all that I can get. You're nothing but a cold bitch, and it pleases me to no end to see you at my behest, knocked off the pedestal you think you stand on. You're the same as all the other arrogant, feathered pricks. Except I think it would be safe to assume none of the rest of them ever had a demon inside them. That not only makes you an arrogant, feathered dick, but a hypocritical, arrogant feathered dick.

He didn't look surprised when she slapped him hard in the face. He didn't even move. Rubbing the spot where her hand had made contact with him, he roughly threw her down on the couch and stalked off to the basement.

She couldn't believe it. There were so many things to process in this one moment. Firstly and most importantly, her daughter was out there, unaware there was a very powerful Knight of Hell looking for her. Secondly, she finally figured out how she ended up at that crossroads alive after Metatron had stabbed her in the head. For his own sordid purposes, of course. It would have to be some sort of self-serving purpose for him to do something like that. How had she gotten herself into this mess?

Anxiously, she walked back and forth across the room listening to angel radio. Her daughter was warded against angels, for her own protection, however if Abaddon made any move, it was sure to be broadcasted. Ever since she'd been listening on a regular basis, Naomi had gotten the rundown of Abaddon's activities, from kidnappings to possessions to killings, and other acts of destruction. She was almost certain that if her daughter was taken by the demon, she'd hear _something_.

No one knew about her daughter; no one was ever supposed to know. Her daughter was, well, she didn't like to think about it, but her daughter would be considered an abomination by Heaven. The girl was a physical reminder of Naomi's foray into free will that was explicitly prohibited to her. Angels weren't supposed to engage in sexual relations and products of such fornication were exterminated without thought or consideration. Angels had one job and one job only. Naomi's job was to guard the souls of Heaven, though her position required her to do a little more than that, like protect the angels and see that Heaven was run as God had intended. Her job required her to give orders and supervise, and had become stressful since the angels had been fighting each other for control. But she had not wavered in her duties and responsibilities. She had successfully balanced work and motherhood these past few years and no one had been the wiser. She was discreet and lucky that she didn't have to answer to anyone in her job or work too closely with anyone else. It afforded her a lot of flexibility so that she could be a mother to her daughter. While angels didn't have the same emotional capacity as humans, when she thought of the child, she felt something wonderful-was that joy?

If anything happened to her daughter, she would find a way to annihilate Crowley. She would absolutely crush him. She didn't want to think of that right now, though. There was action to take. Nadia and Jonas had connections with some of Crowley's demons. And because she had a decent relationship with them, they would do what she asked of them without question. She would hang Agiel over their heads, if she had to. There were angels she knew to be on her side, that she could trust, but the sigils she had in place would prevent them from getting to her daughter. Why hadn't she thought to ward her against demons, as well?

As she was getting ready to summon Nadia and Jonas, another pair of demons burst through the basement door and came at her. Suddenly, she realized what they wanted.

"No!" She tried to use her powers, but couldn't. The house was indeed protected, as Crowley had warned her. She screamed, calling Crowley a coward and promising to destroy him, among other things. How could he do this to her? After everything, how could he leave her powerless to do anything to save her daughter?

The bigger demon grabbed her and held her arms behind her back while the other yanked her head back by her long hair. Quickly, he ran his sharp, silvery blade across her throat releasing her grace, which was caught in a new vial, and a steady stream of blood, which was collected in a second vial. Once it was over, she collapsed and they left her bloody and wounded on the floor.

* * *

He heard her infuriated screams upstairs as his demons acted on his orders. He supposed he should've done the deed himself, but he didn't care. She was acting like the bitch she was and he didn't care to be around her. Damn angels. They were all alike, the whole bloody lot of them. The only good idea Abaddon had, and he'd never actually admit it, was to make those winged fiends subservient to the ruler of Hell. Naomi stirred up all kinds of feelings in him, mostly hatred, disgust, and more hatred, and he enjoyed having so much power over her. He wished he could watch her writhe as her grace was ripped from her. Oh well, there would be other opportunities.

The smaller demon delivered the angel's grace to him, as well as a vial of her blood. The bright blue matter of her grace was bobbing around within its glass enclosure.

"I want you to trail Abaddon. Keep a close distance. I want to know where she goes and what's she's doing. And do try not to screw it up. I've had to do a lot of things myself lately due to a disappointing lack of competence. I'm already in quite a foul mood, so I suggest that you try not to get yourself killed."

The demon curtly nodded before disappearing with the second demon, leaving Crowley alone in the basement. Sitting behind the desk in the office he'd set up there temporarily, he opened a drawer and took out a chalice along with a pouch containing various ingredients he needed for a spell. Naturally, he preferred a nice, quiet office upstairs away from the rest of his idiot demons who did their dirty work in the basement, but that idea had been instantly dismissed by Naomi.

"This is my house and I don't want any demons up here messing it up! You can have the basement. After all, you should be used to existing below everything else."

Self-righteous hypocrite! If heaven knew half the things they'd gotten up to during their times together, she'd have her grace permanently stripped and the feathers on her wings plucked off one by one. Well, before Metatron kicked them all out of Heaven, that is.

That bastard was on his list, too. Because if anyone was going to kill Naomi, he had won the right to do so long ago, not some third-rate angel. Scribe of God...ha! Crowley wasn't even sure Metatron could read. He even cast a doubt on the angel's sanity. To be quite truthful, he'd never met an angel that was sane. Castiel was probably the most cuckoo of the bunch, but a lot of that was due to a pair of thorns in his side called Winchester. Michael was all drama and an idiot. Gabriel was an ass. Raphael had been so far up his own self-important ass that Crowley avoided him at all costs. And now he finds out that Naomi has a secret child. Granted, he hadn't seen her in a while, but you'd think knowledge that like would make the rounds. He wondered who'd been poking her in the sexy way.

His wrath now elevated to an alarming degree, he tore open the pouch and began mixing the ingredients, reciting Enochian phrases over the mixture. It wasn't clear exactly why he was doing this. What did he care if the child lived or died? The angel child. Or whatever it was. Who knows who-or what-had knocked up Naomi. The ingredients began to glow and he added Naomi's blood, turning the mix bright red, making it glow even brighter. Holding the vial of grace over the chalice while stirring the blood with his finger, he chanted the phrases over and over again, each time becoming more urgent than the last. Bit by bit, tiny pieces came together to create a kaleidoscope of an image. He gazed into the swirling blood until he could see the child and discern from her surroundings where she was located. It wasn't easy and took several minutes as the image wasn't clear. A nearby landmark gave him the information he needed, however, and in less than a couple of minutes, he had cleaned up and appeared in front of an obviously startled child.

Quickly surveying the sickeningly cozy house, he finally took a good look at the girl, who was much younger than he'd imagined. She was oddly plain-looking and scrawny, with dark brown hair and set of too-large, too-wide blue eyes. But he supposed it was because she wasn't expecting visitors, least likely the King of Hell.

He hoped she was an absolute brat and that she caused her mother many moments of painful exasperation.

"You're Naomi's daughter? I thought you'd be older," he said, assessing her.

The child jumped up and gawked at him. "How did you do that? Who are you? And how do you know my mother? You've seen her?"

"Come again?"

"Am I going to have to repeat everything I say to you?" she sighed and crossed her arms impatiently.

Holy mother of sin, this child was like her mother. He was going to have trouble out of her. "Demons can appear whenever they want to, wherever they want to."

"Demons aren't real," she said in a very matter-of-fact voice.

Unbelievable. Did Naomi not teach her daughter anything? "If I'm not a demon, then how did I just appear out of nowhere?"

She thought about it for a moment. "You got me there. I don't know. But demons aren't real. Ok, now answer my second question. Who are you?"

"The King of Hell."

"The what?" she giggled, showing a gap between her two front teeth.

"Think it's funny, do you? I am king over a domain of demons and troubled, wayward souls. A little respect would be nice," he puffed. This kid was starting to get on his nerves.

"Well, what do I call you?"

"Mr. King of Hell."

"I'm totally not calling you that. Firstly, I'm not allowed to say the H-word, and secondly, that just sounds silly. Try again."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes. "Call me Crowley."

"Ok, Mr. Crowley. Now, third question. How do you know my mother?"

He thought the answer "biblically" wouldn't have been inappropriate, so instead he told her briskly that he'd known her for a long time.

"But she's alive?" She donned the same wide-eyed expression that greeted him.

"Unfortunately, yes, though looking back on it, I think it was a mistake."

"I'm so glad! Julia and I thought...well, Mama always said that if she didn't come home for a while, that she had to take a very important trip, but not to worry. She's had to take trips before, but never for this long."

"Who's Julia?"

"My nanny. She stays with me when Mama is gone."

He really didn't care to hear her life's story. His goal was to fetch the kid and return her to her mother; he had no interest beyond this. "Yes, well, we must be going. Hurry up and get some things you'd want to take with you. And don't be long about it!" The thought of Abaddon showing up unannounced did make him slightly nervous when he recalled what happened earlier in the evening.

"You haven't even asked for my name!" she cried indignantly.

"I don't care what it is. If I'm lucky, I won't have to use it," he snapped. There was no telling when demons would be arriving and he didn't want to be caught here arguing with a child.

"Why should I go with you? I don't even know who you are!"

"I told you who I am! Crowley, King of Hell! That's all you need to know!"

"No, it's not!" she crossed her arms obstinately. "You could be taking me somewhere to kill me! Or sell me on the black market! I'm a pretty cool kid; you could get lots of money for me."

He was getting a headache. "If I could sell you on the black market, believe me, I would. However, your mother would try to smite me and I'd really like to focus my energy on killing one enemy at a time."

"What does smite mean?" she asked, showing more much curiosity than he wanted to deal with.

"It means to...don't you know what your mother is?"

"She's a stock broker."

Crowley rolled his eyes and shook his head. Leave it to Naomi to pick the most boring profession ever as a cover. That angel sorely lacked an imagination, as did, unsurprisingly, all angels. They hadn't been programmed with any creativity.

"She's an angel. You know, the thing with wings and harps. Surely she's told you about angels."

"She has. She reads me stories about them sometimes."

"Well, she's one of them. Except she doesn't play a harp. She tried once, but it ended badly. She's tone-deaf, which automatically disqualified her from being a seraph." The image of Naomi flying around singing made him want to burst out laughing. Woman couldn't sing if her life depended on it.

The girl didn't seem to catch on to the joke and she didn't look like she believed a word he said.

"All right, look, you have two minutes to gather your things together or else we'll leave without them. I'm sure your mother will explain everything as soon as I gladly turn you over to her."

She hesitated but appeared to finally give in and listen to Crowley, however she continued to wear an expression of utmost skepticism. Before she could reach the staircase, in walked who Crowley could only surmise to be the girl's nanny, Julia. When her eyes suddenly became black, Crowley knew it was someone else, someone he slowly began to recognize. The girl noticed, too, and gasped when she saw her nanny's eyes turn. Immediately, he pulled the stunned child behind him.

"Hello, Julia...or should I say…Fiona?" he said.

The woman appeared startled. "My king...you live? Abaddon told us..."

"I know what she told you," he said irritably. "She lies. I am very much alive and she is not, I repeat, NOT the Queen of Hell. Where do your loyalties lie, Fiona?" He brandished his blade and heard the small girl gasp.

"With you, sir." She eyed the blade nervously.

"And what are you doing here? Acting on Abaddon's orders?"

"Yes, sir. She told us to find the child and bring it to her."

"Why is this child so important?"

"I don't know, sir. She said she was important...but she didn't say why," she added quickly as Crowley polished his blade with his handkerchief.

"It wouldn't be in your best interest to lie to me, Fiona."

"I am not lying, sir! I haven't alerted Abaddon to the child's location. I just got here."

"Very well. I'll give you a chance to prove your loyalty since you were always one of my more proficient demons. Tell the others that I still live and that I am fighting for Hell. Most importantly, tell them that Abaddon will burn. I will make sure of it. When I get a hold of her, I won't show that bitch any mercy."

"There are others who will want to know. Not all of us follow Abaddon because we want to. We don't have a choice."

"There is always a choice."

The demon looked properly chastised and didn't say anything else. She bowed and disappeared.

"What was that?" the girl exclaimed.

"A demon."

"So, they are real? You're really a king and everything?"

"Would you get your things together?" he asked her once again, his voice rising and his patience waning. "I have asked you two times now!"

"Sheesh. You're crabby!" she yelled as she ran up the stairs.

"Blah blah blah. I'm a demon, sweetheart!" he called after her. "We're not known for rainbows and unicorns."

As she got her things together, Crowley looked around the house. Pictures of Naomi with her daughter hung on the walls. It was all so sickly sweet Crowley thought he'd go into a diabetic coma. It was so rare to see that bitch smile he swore that her face would break if she ever attempted it. Though, he did remember a smile or two. Sometimes she would give in and smile in the throes of passion, when she let herself go. If only the other angels knew how sullied and unclean their no-nonsense leader was from fraternizing with demons. Well, one demon, as far as he knew.

The house was so 'normal.' Everything was immaculately clean, one of those houses that had everything in its place and a place for everything. He detested houses like that, and he couldn't wait to get out of it. He actually couldn't wait to get back to Hell. He missed the screams and the racks. But first he had to figure out what those Winchester boys did to him and find a way to undo it. He hadn't been the same since that fiasco in the church with Moose.

Ready to yell at the kid for taking too much time, she reappeared and ran down the stairs. "How do we get to where we're going?"

"You ask too many questions."

"Don't demons ever ask questions?"

"No. I'd kill them. And before you ask, angels don't ask questions, either. They do as they're told because they're idiots."

"See? My mother can't be an angel, because she isn't an idiot," she retorted primly. "So, is this like _Harry Potter_ where I have to touch your sleeve and then we apparate to where we're going?"

He had no earthly idea what she was talking about, but before the girl had any idea what was going on, she was in a different place.

* * *

Gradually, Naomi became aware of a slight weight against her side. As her eyes fluttered open, they were greeted by the morning sun. She gingerly touched her throat and found the cut gone. Turning her head, she saw her daughter in bed with her, sprawled out halfway on top of her. Her daughter!

"You have a lot of things to explain to her."

"What did you tell her?" she inquired softly as she ran her fingers through the girl's dark hair. Her daughter was safe. It was enough to make her immune to Crowley's unwelcome presence.

"Oh, the birds and the bees, angels and demons." He sat in the chair next to the window.

Naomi sighed, "She'd have to find out sooner or later. I'll talk to her today."

"Did she never ask why she could do things that other kids couldn't?"

"I—I bound her powers. I wasn't sure—I didn't...want other angels to find out about her. I knew they'd try to destroy her; I couldn't let them do that." Her eyes glossed over and a lump formed in her throat; human emotions threatened to consume her. "I bound her powers and took precautions, and I've never had any issues. I don't know how Abaddon found out about her."

"She has her ways."

Naomi turned to look at Crowley. "Thank you."

"Don't go getting soft on me."

"Did she give you any trouble?"

"Loads. She's already as difficult as you are. Asks too many questions..."

"Children tend to do that," she smiled.

"You know, I don't like this version of you. I prefer the embittered, hardened Naomi who would rather torture than talk." Naomi thought he seemed quite aggravated! She laughed.

"I'm not in the habit of torturing. I believe you meant to say _gathering information_."

"Semantics, darling. You gather information with a drill to the head. Call it what you want, but it's still torture." That made her bristle, which made him smirk

"By the way, now that there's an 11-year old living here, I would appreciate it if you refrained from talking about certain things in front of Zoë."

"Like mummy's torturing habit? My lips are sealed."

She became solemn. "I mean it Crowley. Keep your demons in the basement and don't talk about Abaddon, angels, or anything else in front of her. She's still so young."

"Don't give me orders, Naomi. I'm not one of your winged subordinates."

"And I know the real reason you're keeping me around, Crowley. You're just using me. You admitted it. Don't think I haven't forgotten. The least you can do is to avoid talking about things a girl her age shouldn't know about." Naomi gently extricated herself from her daughter, who was still fast asleep.

"Is that all?" he mocked.

"For now." She reached for her robe, slipping it on. Exiting the bedroom, he followed her down the stairs. She wasn't going to get away from him; he'd had enough of her pretentiousness.

Once they were in the kitchen, he unleashed a new round of venom. "You know, Naomi, it's just like you to give orders like I'm some bloody angel hanging around waiting to do your bidding. If anyone is going to give orders, it's going to be me. You're not sitting on your pretend throne on a fluffy white cloud anymore. You've fallen. And in so many ways."

"All I asked of you was to be careful what you say in front of a child. I don't understand why you're being such a—"

"—demon about it?"

Narrowing her eyes at him, she hissed, "If I infuriate your demonic sensibilities so easily, why don't you go and stay gone?"

"Because I love being the pain in your ass. Don't forget that I brought you back from death; I brought your daughter to you..."

"And I saved you from Abaddon!"

"Only because she threatened you! You needed me!"

Naomi balked, "I did not! I do not need you! The only reason I'm here is because you made me sign a contract! And the only reason I signed that contract is because you were threatening my angels! I don't _need_ you, Crowley."

He seized her by the shoulders and pulled her to him so that there was no room between them. He growled dangerously over the audible beating of her heart, which his touch accelerated. "If it weren't for me, you would still be in the nothingness where Metatron sent you. You would've left your darling daughter an orphan and defenseless to whatever Abaddon had planned for her. So, show me a little respect," he spat as he enunciated every syllable of that last word.

Her chest heaved into his uncontrollably. He'd pinned her against the bar, its cool edge digging into her back almost painfully. She didn't dare look into his eyes, those same eyes that were staring hard at her, willing her to break.

"Are you fighting with Mr. Crowley, Mama?" Both Naomi and Crowley turned their heads to see Zoë standing at the opening of the kitchen in her pajamas, her hair sticking up all over the place.

"Yes, she is!" snarled Crowley, stepping away from Naomi, who proceeded to straighten her robe.

"You really shouldn't do that. He's awesome and he's got a sweet blade." Crowley looked at Naomi smugly.

Put out colored with a little jealousy, she responded huffily, "I've got a blade, too."

"Cool! Can I see it?"

Both Crowley and Naomi responded emphatically, "No!"

"So, Mama, if you're an angel, do you have wings?" She hopped into a chair at the bar as Naomi made her a bowl of cereal.

Naomi blushed, unused to talking about herself. Crowley answered for her. "She does. She flaps them when she gets annoyed."

"They don't _flap_."

"Do you have a halo?" At this, he snickered. She flashed him a look of utter disdain. It perturbed her that he didn't take angelic matters seriously. But he was a mere demon, what did he know?

"No, dear."

"So...does that make me an angel?"

"That is a complicated question that we'll talk about when you're older. Right now, you're simply a little girl." She sat a bowl in front of Zoë.

"Can I see Heaven?" she managed between bites.

"Not right now."

"How about Hell?

"Absolutely not."

"You're not going to tell me much, are you?"

"I'm afraid not," Naomi smiled.

"Who's Abaddon?"

"A demon, and that's all I'm going to say. Eat your breakfast."

"You ask too many questions," Crowley said as he knocked back a drink.

"Did you know that drinking before lunch is a clear indication of alcoholism? It can lead to liver failure." All the sudden he began to cough and Naomi had to laugh.

"It's all right, sweetheart, he's used to failure."

* * *

**End notes: Things are heating up! I love them, guys. I just love them.**


	5. Ghosts

**Title: Fallen**

**Rating: M **

**Disclaimer: Not mine...blah blah blah.**

**Author's Notes: "****_She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire_****" is from ****_An Almost Made Up Poem_**** by Charles Bukowski. The chapter title comes from the song of the same name by On and On. **

**Also, if you love Crowley and Naomi and want to fangirl with me, you can find me on Tumblr. My username is sweetteaandpie.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Ghosts**

Naomi worked around the clock as more reports of escalating violence and bloodshed between the angels were broadcast over angel radio. The days never seemed to be long enough, and soon she was dependent on coffee to stay up at night and to get up in the morning. A few times, she'd fallen asleep at her desk, only to wake in the morning with her cheek pressed sternly against its smooth wooden surface. It was difficult managing without her grace, but Crowley refused to return it, citing their contract. It infuriated her greatly her, but she would just have to make due.

She also demanded much of Jonas and Nadia. Day and night they were summoned by her to update her on their progress. They were tasked with recruiting angels to back Naomi in her fight against Metatron for Heaven, however it was proving to be more difficult than initially thought as the angels were growing exceedingly divisive and thus, more violent. Also, the angels weren't that keen on trusting the word of other angels, let alone demons. They were too busy trying to stay alive than to decide where their loyalties lay, and so many turned a cold, distrustful shoulder to Naomi's recruiters. There were several incidences that led her to threatening Jonas and Nadia with Agiel because of their sullen, resentful complaints that she was asking them to do the impossible. Naomi fired back that she wasn't asking them to do anything she wasn't willing to do herself.

"_We need more angels! What are you doing with your time, wasting it? Why don't you have more angels agreeing to join us?_" Jonas mimicked Naomi in an exaggerated voice, as she sat at her desk watching his spectacle with disdain. Naomi appeared unflappable and hard. He continued, "You want to know why angels aren't signing up to be on our team? Because an angel would have to be fucking stupid to work with a demon! Lady, we aren't the fucking Girl Scouts! They're not signing up to get cookies!"

Naomi sat back in her chair and gave him a stony look. "Jonas, you're not here to think. That's what I do. You and Nadia do what I tell you to do."

"Yeah, and what you're telling us to do isn't working. You don't have to _think_ to notice it's not working. You just have to open your eyes and look."

Nadia spoke up, "Yeah, and if the angels give their loyalty to anyone but Bartholomew or Malachi, they risk being killed. Why would they agree to fight for you and risk their lives? If I were an angel, I wouldn't!"

"And we mustn't forget, angels are too high and mighty to work with anyone they consider to be beneath them. Even the most desperate ones would rather be killed by Bartholomew or Malachi than agree to join forces with a damned demon, even if it is for mere _recruitment purposes_. For all I care, you can keep killing each other. What have you ever done for us anyway? All of you are nothing but a bunch of damned dicks and you get what you deserve."

Naomi shot out of her chair and yelled testily, "That's enough! You are not here to ask questions or to get answers. I'm keeping you alive for one purpose only." In a split second, she grabbed her blade from a drawer and slammed it down on her desk, the sound of metal clanging against wood resounded throughout the office. "If you think failure is a better option, let me know right now so that I can stop wasting my time with you."

She looked from Jonas to Nadia, both of whom were seething through narrowed eyes. Jonas's fists tightened into balls. Naomi almost willed him to try anything, as she sorely needed to work out some of her mounting frustration.

When no one responded, she sat back down, leaving her blade in its place. "All right. This is what's going to happen," she took out a couple of pieces of stationery and began writing feverishly, "you will give Malachi and Bartholomew each a memo. Coming directly from me may perhaps persuade them to meet with me personally to discuss this situation."

"You want us to go directly to the top?" Nadia asked suspiciously, not bothering to mask the hesitation in her voice.

"Don't worry, Nadia. I'll make sure to underline the sentence requesting they not kill you just yet."

Her fellow demon muttered under his breath.

"Jonas, if I can hear prayers in China, I can hear what you're muttering two feet in front of me." Naomi sealed the two letters in envelopes and handed one to Nadia and the other to Jonas. "Deliver these promptly; it would not be wise to test my patience right now."

When they didn't immediately disappear, she barked, "Go!"

They vanished and Naomi sat back in her chair deep in thought. If the angels were being so reticent to join her, she would have to revise her strategy. Her absence had undoubtedly escalated the ongoing war and resentment between the two factions. It was heated when she was in charge, but now it was full-blown violence. She should never have made Bartholomew her second-in-command. He seemed eager to please, obedient, and trustworthy when he'd first been appointed. But that turned out to be a grievous error in judgment. If he'd been any leader whatsoever, he would've found a way to keep the conflict from intensifying. He'd only proved that he was self-interested and self-important; his agenda was his own without giving a second thought to how his actions would impact anyone else. There were so few of them left after Castiel had gone on his murderous rampage that they couldn't afford to lose anymore. Her true desire lay in seeking revenge on Metatron and re-entering Heaven with her brothers and sisters, but this was going to have to be delayed until she could get them to stop killing each other.

And that was going to be a big task.

She glanced over at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it said 1:35. Time never had meant anything to her before, and now she was counting the hours and minutes. Standing up, she felt her bones crack and pop. An odd sensation no doubt caused by sitting most of the day several days in a row. Her neck ached, her back ached, and she was exhausted. The inane limitations of the human body played a part in hindering the progress of her work. For the tenth time that day, she wished she could get her hands on her grace. She hated being immobile; she was a leader and a warrior, and it felt like an act of cowardice to be sitting behind a desk letting demons do her work while angels were being slaughtered. She didn't like working with demons; it was unclean. And it added to her already foul mood.

Deciding that a hot bath would do her good, she pulled herself wearily up the stairs and plodded along to her bathroom where she locked the rest of the world out more than she locked herself in. Her clothes were folded and stacked neatly on a shelf; with a gentle tug, her hair fell down her neck, reaching just below her shoulders. Once the tub was full, she sank into the steaming water, letting it encase her in its warmth. The sweet-smelling bubbles blanketed her. The bath was like medicine, like a fast-acting tonic to her fatigue and rotten mood. She folded a wet washcloth and placed it over her forehead and eyes, which did wonders for her headache. Every muscle relaxed and her sharp pains became dull aches. She extended her legs as far as they could go and stretched her neck until she felt it pop. Her body was already on the road to recovery from its overuse.

"What is that line...? _She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire_."

There was no energy left to let even a simple sigh of disapproval slip from her mouth. She was covered by a thick layer of foam, so she didn't have to worry about him being able to see anything. Though if the truth be known, at this point, she didn't know if she could possibly muster enough energy to care if he saw anything.

Somehow, she was able to respond without having to exert herself any further by actually moving her mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, that's right. Bureaucrats have no need for poetry. What a dull existence it must be for angels. It has to be difficult to think about one thing and only one thing every day for eternity. No free will, no vices of any kind, nothing. You simply do as you're told."

"Shut up."

A pregnant pause followed, which made Naomi slightly uncomfortable. She wondered if Crowley was still there, but she wasn't going to disturb her present cozy state to raise her warm washcloth for a peek. She didn't have to wait long for him to assert that he was still present.

"By the way, I ran into Nadia and Jonas a few minutes ago. They were their usual moronic selves, but obviously terrified something awful was going to happen if I'd kept them from whatever they were doing. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"

"Maybe."

"Ah, then I should commend your leadership skills. Nothing like putting a little fear of Hell into them. You tend to do that, you know. I find that it's an admirable quality to have. I would've given those two up for dead long before now. Remarkable how they've been able to stay alive; they don't have half a brain between them. Tell me, love, what was so important that they rudely disappeared on me mid-sentence?"

"I wouldn't tell you if you had a knife to my throat."

She immediately felt the sharp point of Crowley's blade dig into the flesh of her neck. Slowly, she peeled the washcloth off her face and gazed down at the blade he held to her throat. He dug a little deeper, and she was sure he'd pierced her skin.

"You might want to rethink your answer."

"What's it to you?" she asked, the knife pinching her with every syllable that passed through her throat and out of her mouth.

"You've been reclusive and secretive lately, and I like to make it a habit to know what those in my presence are up to, especially angels. I don't trust any of them. And you've screwed me over before."

She looked into his sneering face and hissed through her teeth, "I have never screwed you over. But go ahead and do it. Go ahead and slice me open. It'll give you an idea of what Abaddon's going to do to you when she finds you."

"I don't need your assistance in defeating Abaddon, you devious bitch. I could so easily end you right here."

Crowley didn't often call her a bitch or hold a knife to her throat. The last time he'd pulled a weapon on her was in a fit of jealousy, and it hadn't ended too well for him. He was genuinely angry. She didn't know what had happened to arouse his temper. Surely a couple of demons wouldn't have been enough to provoke such an intense reaction.

She studied his face for a moment, then replied sharply, "I gave Nadia and Jonas letters for Malachi and Bartholomew. I want to meet with them personally to discuss the state of things."

He studied her momentarily, probably to gauge her honesty, then laughed mockingly, "Do you? That's not going to happen. I hear Bartholomew's not making any personal appearances."

"Oh, yes, it's going to happen. I am still his superior. This is a chance to talk some sense into both of them and end all this unnecessary violence-"

"You're going to talk some sense into an elitist snob and a thug?" His derisive laugh got louder; she didn't think there was anything to laugh about. When he decided he was satisfied with her answer, he removed the blade and sat on the side of the tub. She relaxed a bit now that a blade wasn't digging into her throat, but curious as to why he'd been so defensive. She certainly didn't trust him, either.

"Malachi isn't a thug. He has worked for his position; perhaps if he'd worked harder and had more ambition, he might have achieved a more prestigious post. It's not too late. As for Bartholomew, he is self-absorbed and a terrible leader. His only interest is in himself."

"That's the trouble with you bureaucrats; you don't see the forest for the trees, so to speak. You're so narrowly focused on yourselves you miss the broader scope of things."

Releasing an angry breath, she scoffed, "And I suppose demons are so much more enlightened?"

"We see the whole picture; we don't get caught up in the workings and trappings of the situation. We go after what we want and move on to the next scenario. There's no time for self-involved drama."

"Demons lie, steal, and cheat to get what they want. They satisfy their own urges as the expense of others."

"And that is different from the angels how? You have two angels engaging their minions in guerrilla warfare against each other. Why? For control of Heaven. To satisfy a lust for power. Not that I see anything wrong with that, but it just goes to show you that we're not so different, after all." He gazed down at her with an unreadable expression. "You and I are not so different." Gently, he scraped the edge of his blade along her jawline, just grazing the skin. Naomi watched it, not making any sudden moves lest it nicked her. She tried to contain her shudder. Once it reached her chin, he began dragging it downward, stopping where the water met her chest. She glared at him, willing him to drop dead.

"You and are very different. I have a moral code to uphold. I'm trying to fix this not because I want power, but because I want to save the few of us that are left and return to Heaven. I want to end the fighting!"

"And I want to keep Hell out of Abaddon's greedy hands because she will destroy what I have worked to build. Do you not think about how demons and angels will suffer under her rule? We'd both like to see our domains saved from the hands of the undeserving whores and pricks who want it for themselves. And we'll use any method we can to stop them."

"Heaven is not my _domain_." she puffed indignantly.

"Oh, calm down!" he said, having quelled the flames from his explosion. "You know, I do love it when you get all hot and bothered. I makes me hate the thought of having to kill you, but if you leave me no choice, then you leave me no choice."

"You can try, but you won't succeed," she informed him bluntly.

He lowered his voice and became serious. "If I find out you've been conspiring to obtain your freedom, or to fight against Hell, I'll do worse than kill you. I'll take you to Hell and lock you up, only to let you out for playtime. And believe me, playtime won't be as fun for you as it will be for me."

Naomi raised up as far as she could and still be covered by the bubbles in her bath. "And if you try anything like that, or if you try to obstruct my work, I will destroy you in the most painful way possible. You will not enjoy it, I can promise you that. Do I make myself clear, you disgusting cockroach?"

"Sticks and stones, darling," he smirked. "Remember that moral code you're pretending to uphold. No place in the code for torture, I would presume."

She didn't want to fight anymore; it was too tiring. They would always fight and exchange harsh words; she was an angel and he a demon. It was to be expected., and she didn't want to waste anymore energy on it. Instead, she lay back in her bath, irritated she'd been disturbed and kept from enjoying the peacefulness the warm water was affording her. "Why don't you get out of here and leave me alone?"

He replaced his blade in his jacket pocket. His tone abruptly changed to a lighter, albeit sarcastic one. "Did I interrupt your bath? I have a habit of doing that, don't I?"

He knew very well he was interrupting her bath, which angered her further.

"Yes, you do! I was having a nice, relaxing soak until you showed up uninvited and threatened me. You should really learn to keep your paranoia in check."

"Can't be too careful these days. There are all kinds of demons and humans that would love to do me in."

"They'll have to beat me to it," she added dryly. "You have the remarkable ability of making everyone you meet want to kill you."

"It's jealousy. They all want to be King of Hell, but none of them possess enough balls or smarts to even come close to competing with me. Come on, let's put away our differences for now."

"No," she grumbled and closed her eyes.

"You look stressed," he tutted. "Tell Daddy all about it, hm?"

"Why would I want to tell you about it?"

"You look, I don't know, like you may be in some discomfort? I can help you out with that, you know. I haven't given you a good massage in a decade or more, and since we're stuck together in this house, I might as well make good use of myself. And I give damn good ones, if I do say so myself."

Naomi had to agree with that. His large, firm hands had helped put her at ease before. She was sure he could loosen the knots in her shoulders and back, maybe even take the pain away. At the very least, he could help with the tension in her muscles. The last time he'd massaged her however, she ended up forgetting herself. The moral code she'd sworn to uphold had been tossed aside. A bit of guilt crept into her conscious as she recalled that instance. But she desperately needed to relax, and Crowley could admittedly help her with that. Her willpower was quite strong and she was very disciplined, which would help her to rebuff any sexual overtures he would make. If she could get him to tame his lewd behavior, she could get rid of her pain and empty her head. She thought it over.

"All right. But there will be rules," she peered at him distrustfully.

"Naturally. You're an angel; I bet there are rules and policies on which side you button your jacket."

"We always button on the right side."

"It was a joke!" he bellowed.

It was her turn to smirk. "Hands must be above the waist at all times. No inappropriate touching. And I'll be wearing pajamas."

"Of course, of course. I didn't actually expect to have any fun, Naomi."

She didn't appreciate his sarcastic tone.

"Good."

"I'll be waiting for you in the bedroom. Hurry." He vanished, leaving her alone to finish her bath and dress for bed.

* * *

When she emerged from the bathroom, he was waiting for her with a couple of glasses of red wine in his hands. The room was dark except for a couple of lit candles that stood on the nightstand by the bed. She was unquestionably surprised...and cautious, especially since he'd been threatening to kill her not even a half-hour before. An outside light shone through the window and cast an opaque glow on the side of his face, but the rest of him was shrouded in darkness.

"This will help relax you," he explained, stepping closer to hand her the glass. She could see him more clearly now.

"Thank you," she said, unsure about this. She hoped he did realize this was only a massage.

He snickered, "Holy mother of sin, Naomi, loosen up! We're not picking out china patterns!"

She frowned and pulled her silk robe tightly around her as she took a sip of the wine. Almost immediately, its effect diffused throughout her body creating a soothing sensation. Crowley moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She jumped at the contact, then relaxed as he kneaded her through the thin fabric of her robe.

"That's my girl. How does that feel?" It felt like his mouth was next to her ear.

"Mmmm, good," she sighed, taking another sip.

"Release your shoulders; you're tense and it's making the muscles stiff."

"It's your job to fix that." His hands felt so good. There was a little pain as he worked his hands over the tightly wound muscles in her shoulders, but it quickly dissipated. She tilted her head back and savored the incredible feeling of relief that was beginning to radiate in her.

"Always a smart ass. I can massage your back, if you want. I have that lotion you always liked. Of course, you'd have to expose your back to me, and I'm not sure if you're ready for the irreversible repercussions that could have."

"I can do without your sarcasm," she pursed her lips.

He picked up the lotion. "Well?"

Hesitating, she went to the side of the bed and set down her half-emptied glass of wine. "All right. As long as you keep your hands on my back..."

"You are such a prude! I can't believe anyone managed to knock you up. Did he even get to see your back?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Shut up or leave. I'm not so quick to give into the lustful impulses you demons so readily indulge."

"I've witnessed you give into some lustful impulses a time or ten before, sweetheart. Lay down."

"Turn your head!" she instructed him prissily.

He sighed, but did as she asked. "It's not like I've ever seen them before."

"That's not the point." She took of her robe and slid the thin straps of her blue nightie down and off her arms. Embarrassed, she pushed the nightie down to her hips and securely wrapped her robe around her waist. Quickly, she lay on her stomach, pressing the side of her face into the pillow. She double-checked to make sure Crowley couldn't see anything that would stimulate his already overactive imagination.

"If you're going to take all night..."

"You can turn around now."

* * *

The sight of her looking at him was alluring, whether she meant it to be or not. Her hair was out of that uptight knot she usually wore it in, swept to the side of her face with the rest laying on her bare back. Her robe cradled her hips, the curves of her body blatant and discerning as if she were showcasing them. What deliciously wicked thoughts he was going to have of her as his hands were on her body. He'd jested at the irreversible repercussions of seeing her bare back, when in actual fact, the sight of it was causing him to replay memories of him caressing and kissing the very same back at several points throughout their history together.

He shed his jacket and tie, and unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. As he slathered lotion on his hands, he took the opportunity to leer at her. He was a demon, after all. Lust wasn't a sin; it was a virtue. Dammit that Naomi didn't feel the same way, but he must confess that he found these little games they played quite enticing. He would break her; he always did. And when she broke, he would be there to delightfully defile her, to remind her that the moral code she upheld was bullshit. Hypocrite.

When his knee hit the bed, he could see her body stiffen. He knew she could feel him near her. Her body could tell when he was nearby, even if she couldn't see him. It always became rigid. He crawled up to her; she couldn't see him once he was directly behind her. It gave him a thrill. He waited, feeling her anticipation grow, then began rubbing his hands on her skin, pressing deeply to get at the muscle beneath. It had been a long while since he last touched her bare skin.

He kneaded and rubbed firmly. A little sound escaped her mouth, and he knew she probably hadn't meant it to. It almost sent him over the edge. He was all too pleased with himself. "Like that, love?"

"Mmmm."

He leaned to the side and saw her eyes were closed; she even had something almost resembling a smile on her face. His hands moved lower and dipped to stroke her sides. Her body shook slightly. Curious, he did it again and got the same reaction.

"You're tickling me," she muttered lazily out of the side of her mouth, accompanied by a lethargic laugh.

"Well, I'll be a son of a whore," he said. "She remembers how to laugh."

"Of course I do. Remember that café in Paris? We were sitting at a table with a couple and the man kept trying to play with my foot. And it tickled," she giggled so hard it made the bed shake. "And you were jealous!"

"I was not jealous!" he protested furiously, kneading harder.

"You were! You told him if he did it again, you would tear off all his limbs one by one and feed them to your hellhound!"

"Only because you were making that face you make when you feel your 'moral code' threatened."

"I was not!" She suddenly flipped onto her back, using her robe to cover her body.

Crowley moved to lay next to her, resting his elbow on the pillow beside hers. His head rested in his hand. "You were. You always make the same face and then I have to decide whether I'm going to save your uptight feathered ass or stand by and get a good laugh out of it."

"Speaking of which, where is your hellhound?"

"Growley? Oh, he's indisposed..."

He still hadn't forgiven that son of a bitch Sam Winchester for the murder of his innocent pup, among other things. He'd forgive Moose for trying to turn him human and keeping him locked up for several months before he'd forgive him for killing his hound! He rather missed that adorable monster. The hellhound that is, not Moose.

The laughter died down and he was staring at her face, as he'd done many times before. Nothing had changed. Being one who liked routine and sameness, she'd had the same vessel for more years than he could count. He liked this one, though he couldn't explain why. It matched her personality somehow. Out of nowhere, a pang of jealousy surfaced. He could tell Naomi noticed the change in his face because she asked him what was wrong.

"Who was it that you let take the stick out of your ass and knock you up?" he growled.

It was true, it had been almost a constant question on his mind, though he'd convinced himself he didn't care about where the spawn of Naomi came from. He did wonder who Naomi would possibly allow to violate her in such a way that it produced something that contravened angelic code. It was only natural to wonder. It had been odd discovering that she was a mother. She didn't seem like she could be anyone's mother; angels had such a one-track mind that there didn't seem time or room to be anything else but a feathered dick. He'd been too busy with other things to really contemplate her parenting skills. But he'd obsessively pondered who'd been able to the one thing he hadn't been able to do.

"I'm not answering that," she responded shortly.

He searched her eyes, and when she tried to turn away, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Answer me," he said a little more forcefully. Naomi attempted to push him away, but he pinned her arms to the bed.

"Why do you even care?" she fumed, struggling to find a way to free herself.

"Because when I find him, I'm going to rip him from limb to limb and gut him like a pig."

"Crowley, jealousy is such an unattractive quality to have," she snapped impatiently.

"If you don't tell me, I'll find out. I don't have problems finding the information I want." He let her go and removed himself from the bed. Reaching for his jacket, he couldn't help but gaze at her, still covered in the silken material of her robe which outlined the contours of her body. It didn't do such a good job of hiding what was underneath. Damn her. He wanted to break her neck and make her his at the same time. He wanted to make her writhe and scream, watching her face contort as she begged him for release. He wanted to cause her pain, to brand her with agony. His breathing was deep and audibly perceptible in the stillness of the room. She inspired such deep feelings of lust and hatred in him, especially the thought of her with another.

At once, he realized the gravity of his thoughts. He'd been grappling internally with such feelings since those bloody Winchesters had him chained up in that lair of theirs. He remembered the night in the church when he looked up at Moose and screamed at him.

"_I deserve to be loved!_"

It secretly made him anxious to think he had a modicum of humanity somewhere inside him. He'd changed that night. He felt things, thought things that were never present inside him before. Many times he had mulled over how it would effect his fight with Abaddon; he could not lose all that he had worked for to that whore because of this.

"Crowley," she sighed. "Come back to bed." She turned slightly and patted the pillow beside her.

He was wrenched from his thoughts. He stood there, very shocked at this sudden turn of events. Very, very shocked. She was inviting him back to her bed despite, well, everything. Maybe not to do any sexy poking, but...this was a promising start. Perhaps humanity was having a similar effect on Naomi, he considered. She was still a hoity-toity bitch, though; that hadn't changed. His anger abated, but didn't completely disappear.

* * *

Naomi noticed that Crowley hadn't been quite right all evening. His moods had changed quicker that evening than a teenager's did during all the teen years combined. So far, he'd been distrustful, paranoid, and now jealous. She watched him replace his jacket before sliding back into bed beside her.

"You're being a child," she said simply.

"Am I?" He didn't seem to want to talk about it and shrugged it off. "Want me to continue your massage?"

The offer surprised even her, but she refrained from saying anything, just quietly nodded and rolled back onto her stomach. She couldn't see him, but soon she felt his hands on her again. The coolness of the lotion as it made contact with her skin made her shiver.

"Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about," he replied as he worked on her lower back, precisely where she'd been aching the past few days. It felt so good that she had to suppress a moan.

"All right, be stubborn."

"You're a pain in my ass."

"Is that what's been bothering you?"

"No."

She sighed. Fine, let him keep his secrets. If he didn't want to talk, she couldn't make him. She wondered if she'd missed anything these past few days that she'd barricaded herself in her office, entrenched in work. Maybe the fight with Abaddon was taking its toll, although he was a demon, he should have the stamina of, well, a demon! But Crowley was proud of the empire he'd built, he wouldn't and couldn't just let it all go. It was all very confusing, and on top of it, she was very tired.

She lay like that for a long while as Crowley's hands worked their magic. Nothing more than silence passed between them. Little by little, she felt all her pain melt away. Crowley had restored everything except her energy level, which was more than she could ask for.

"I'm much better," she said, pausing before adding hesitantly, "Thank you." She began to get up, clutching her robe to her.

Crowley went to sit on the end of the bed, seemingly deep in thought while Naomi expeditiously adjusted her nightie and covered herself, tying her robe tightly. Not knowing what else to do, she sat beside him.

He began talking, "The first time I saw you, you were bathing in the Euphrates, and when you caught me looking at you, you became irate. You accused me-"

"-of treachery. I remember. You were watching the maidens bathe, something that you weren't supposed to be doing."

"Oh, what did it matter? I wasn't watching them; I was watching you."

"Still, you weren't supposed to be there."

"We were gods," he recalled fondly. "We answered to no one. We were revered and worshiped."

"You know I don't approve of this blasphemous talk," she said with disapproval in her voice.

"It didn't take long before you were in my bed," he continued with nostalgia coating his voice. "The times we used to have, Naomi."

"I remember," she blushed. She was sure the crimson of her burning cheeks could be seen through the darkness.

"Do you? You haven't changed much. Still hell-bent, pardon the expression, on following rules and procedures. You weren't as much a bureaucrat back then as you are now, but then there were no asses to kiss. Until the one god came into the picture and sent everything into chaos."

"That's enough. I can't believe you're still bitter about it after all these years."

"Bitter doesn't even cover it, sweetheart. One day, you stopped coming to my bed and the next, I was demoted to a mere demon and cast into Hell. And it was a totally different place than my previous otherworldly habitat." With the snap of his fingers, he refilled one of the empty wine glasses that sat on the table in front of him and took a drink. "I realized you'd screwed me over. I shouldn't have been surprised. You were always looking after your own interests."

"I did not screw you over," she said in earnest.

"Oh, please! You left me for a pair of wings and a fluffy cloud."

"It was a good offer!"

"And look at the lot of you now! Wandering the earth killing each other. Still think it's so good?"

"It was good; and it will be good again."

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart." He finished the wine and refilled it, but Naomi snatched it away.

She was furious. This was the one thing that had come between them since their time in Mesopotamia. Well, one of several things. She was tired of being accused of screwing him over, when she'd actually tried to help him.

"Crowley, remember the offer you received from Gabriel?"

"Ah yes. The offer to be an angel? To get my own cloud and wings and harp? All so I could sit in Heaven for an eternity and watch the poor bastards of earth indulge in things I had to forsake in order to be considered one of those feathery fiends? No thanks. Hell wasn't exactly my cup of tea at first, but it grew on me. It wasn't the same as being a deity, but it was a hell of a lot better than having my free will taken away."

"It was because of me that offer was even extended to you."

"I wasn't interested in a sanitized existence. I didn't think it would suit you, either. You were always too passionate and ambitious and ruthless." He eyed her with an intensity that made her feel vulnerable and exposed. "You're better suited as a Knight of Hell, my darling. Abaddon has absolutely nothing on you. Or Queen of Hell. Think of the good times we'd have, you and I, ruling Hell. Nothing could stop us."

The thought of having anything to do with Hell sickened her. She was a protector and guardian of souls, and anything to do with destruction went against everything she believed and had worked for.

"Keep dreaming, dear," she said dryly. "I'm afraid the climate of Hell would be bad for my mood."

Without warning, he placed a hand on her knee and slid it up her leg until it was under her nightie. Outraged, she quickly grabbed it and threw it off her in disgust. She jumped up, causing him to release a raucous laugh.

"There's a little Hell inside you; you can't hide it from me. You may try to deny it, or refuse to acknowledge it, but it's there. You're just saving it for when you meet up with Metatron." He stood up and pulled her to him; he leaned over and whispered into her ear. "And when you do meet up with him, I want to be there to watch. It would give me such pleasure to hear his screams as I watch you give him exactly what he deserves. Don't try and tell me that what you're planning for him is at all acceptable in that 'moral code' you pretend to abide by when it suits you."

She's had enough of his taunting. She raised her chin and looked at him straight in the eye. "Since we're talking about moral codes, why don't you stop hiding behind me and go after Abaddon? The King of Hell isn't supposed to be a coward; he's supposed to fight. All I see you do is hide out here. I'm behind a desk plotting and planning because you won't return my grace and I have to make do with what I have. What's your pathetic excuse?"

It was obvious he wasn't expecting the acrimony of her rebuttal. For the longest moment, he remained rooted to the spot looking at her impassively; she _almost_ felt sorry for saying what she did. Almost. The silence was beginning to make her slightly uncomfortable. She fully expected him to lash out at her angrily or threaten her, but he didn't. He gave her no indication of what he was thinking or what he was going to do. Instead, he simply turned and left through her door.

She gazed up at the clock; late had become early. Glancing out the window, she noticed that the light of the morning was gradually bleeding into the black of the night. It was a new day and she hadn't even dealt with the old one yet. She'd better get started on making coffee; she would need it.


End file.
